


Tea, as Blood

by moonsmoocher



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Childhood Trauma, F/F, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, One-Sided Bernie/Petra, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Romance, Slow Burn, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28913778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonsmoocher/pseuds/moonsmoocher
Summary: "We take the same kinds of meds. Sorry for peeking. The bags Manuela gives out are all the same, and I wanted to be sure you got the one for you. I was kind of hoping we could be friends. I don’t… know anyone else like me. Like us, now."“Yuh-yeah. I’d like to be fuh-fuh-friends, Annie.”
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Bernadetta von Varley, Petra Macneary/Bernadetta von Varley
Comments: 46
Kudos: 63





	1. HI THIS IS ANNETTE

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings for this chapter  
> \- past abuse  
> \- transphobia

Benadetta von Varley was rather nervous, walking out of Ms. Casagranda’s office, with a pouch of herbs, some pills, and an appointment for the next month. If she was being honest with herself, she was rather nervous all the time. Coming to Garreg Mach under the orders of her… her father, she was terrified. About what failure might mean for her when she went home. About being herself, really _being_ Bernadetta, with no shadow of her father lingering over her. Freedom was terrifying. The future was terrifying. The past was...

It was hard not to dwell on thoughts of her father. What he put Bernadetta through. The reasons he did it. _A perfect wife,_ he had said. He would make Bernadetta into a perfect wife. If his son, his _heir,_ wanted to be his daughter, he would have to make some changes. Or she would, at least. Her father was not that caring before that day he called the court healers to Bernadetta’s room, with a sturdy metal chair, rope, and a bag with cruel-looking metal tools.

“Hey. You’re uh… Bernadetta, right? Black Eagles?” a chipper voice asked from behind her.

Bernadetta froze. Her shoulders crept upward and a quick, cold sweat broke out on her neck. She knew she was not the only student at Garreg Mach to be seeing Ms. Casagranda for specialized appointments, but she had hoped, desperately hoped that she could have snuck all the way back to her room without being seen.

“Y-yeah. I’m, umm. I’m Bernadetta Bluh-black Eagles—Bernade-de-detta. Von Vuh-varley. From the, umm… Black...” she stammered. Bernadetta shut her eyes tight enough to see stars. _Stupid Bernie. You’re stupid. This person is trying to be friendly and—_

A hand on her shoulder sent her flying to the side of the corridor in shock, the pouch containing her first month of medicine dropped, completely forgotten. She scrambled to her feet, and ran as best she could, all the way to her dorm, the one space she knew that she could be alone. Be away from people, from hands, from anything at all. Panting, running down the stairs, out of the staff wing, running with her eyes barely open.

As she rounded the final turn of the staircase, Bernadetta plowed into someone with long white hair, much smaller than her, nearly knocking them over.

“Watch where you’re going, jerk!” they shouted.

A great sob escaped Bernadetta’s clenched jaw as she knew, _knew_ to the core of her bones that she hurt someone and that she was _stupid. Always stupid Bernie, can’t do anything right._ Her throat burned, it screamed at her to slow down, but she couldn’t. She ran all the way to her room, her breath ragged and sharp and short.

Slamming the door behind her, she tried her best to work the lock but Bernadetta couldn’t see through the tears. Couldn’t make her fucking _fingers_ work, they were shaking so badly. It was too much for her. She felt pathetic. Her knees collapsed under the strain, and it was all she could do to not scream in frustration.

* * *

Bernadetta woke up with a great ache in her legs and lower back. The sun coming through her window was hot through her black trousers, and her hair was soaked with sweat. It felt like slime had covered every inch of exposed skin. She had fallen asleep right there, piled up against her door.

She looked around in a daze. It didn’t take her long to remember the events of the day. Her sinuses tightened with the threat of tears. Ms. Casagranda’s office. The way Ms. Casagranda said _please, call me Manuela out of class, even if I’m holding office hours,_ which made her cheeks hot with desire, the shame of it. The high, cheery voice that called out to her. The hand. Dropping her sack of…

Her sack of medicine! _Stupid Bernie. You’ve really fucking done it now huh? Go all the way to Garreg Mach and begged your stupid celebrity crush on your stupid hands and knees, begged for those stupid little pills and herbs that give you tits._ Now the tears fell freely.

“Okay Bernie. You might be a fuck up, but you got this. All you have to do is walk back to Ms. Casagranda’s office!” she said with all the enthusiasm she could muster, which was absolutely none. It came out thin and whiny, which is how she felt right now. Besides, most of the students would probably be in the mess hall right now. There was only a very small chance she’d be seen. And no one knew her. And classes started tomorrow. And she was a nobody.

Just a ghost.

Having given herself as much as a pep talk she was capable of, Bernadetta gently slapped her cheeks and opened her door. She could only see a few others out there, up on the terrace, and none on the strip of lawn in front of the dorms. Clear.

Bernadetta almost tripped immediately coming out of her room. Heat crept up her face and she growled in frustration. At her feet was a wooden tray and lid, on top of which were several papers being held down by a pouch. Probably the medicine.

The pile of things secured, she closed her door and finally locked it. The snap of the metal was like taking pouring a pitcher of hot water on her head after a long day. Immediately her shoulders eased. Bernadetta hadn’t realized how tense her muscles had been. Had they been tight the whole time she was asleep? Felt like it.

The contents of the pouch was, in fact, the herbs and pills Ms. Casagranda had given her. Inside the tray was a sandwich, a muffin with berries, and yet another piece of folded parchment. Sitting down, she started on the sandwich—some kind of fish—and started with the one from the tray.

> _Miss Varley,_
> 
> _A student came by with your medicine. Please do not lose it again. Remember to take the pills with your evening meal, and one cup of tea every other day. Do not hesitate to reach out to me. The staff at Garreg Mach are here to guide you, especially myself._
> 
> _I hope you find your evening pleasant. See you in class tomorrow._
> 
> _— Manuela Casagranda_

Bernadetta sighed. She was all ready to gear up _Stupid Bernie_ ing herself when she checked the set of scraps that came on top of the tray.

 _HI IM WHO SCARED YOU IN THE STAFF HALLWAY_ _  
_ _IM SORRY FOR SCARING YOU!! MY NAME IS ANNETTE AND IM IN BLUE LIONS_ _  
_ _I GAVE YOUR MEDS TO MANUELA BUT SHE TOLD ME TO GET YOU SOME FOOD_ _  
_ _IF YOU SEE ME AT MEAL TIMES PLEASE COME SAY HELLO_ _  
_ _IM ABOUT AS TALL AS YOU AND I HAVE RED HAIR_

 _HI THIS IS ANNETTE_ _  
_ _I HOPE WE CAN BE FRIENDS_ _  
_ _I FEEL REALLY BAD IM SO SORRY!!_

 _HI THIS IS ANNETTE_ _  
_ _WE DONT HAVE TO BE FRIENDS_ _  
_ _I PROMISE IM NOT MAD_

 _HI THIS IS ANNETTE_ _  
_ _BERNADETTA IS A CUTE NAME_ _  
_ IM A GIRL TOO

* * *

Bernadetta tried to make herself as small as possible in mind, body, and soul. She sat in the back corner, where one of the candles that illuminated the Black Eagles class had been blown out by the breeze. She looked at the rest of the people coming in. She recognized a few of them from the dorm. The severe looking woman with white hair done up sat at the front, talking calmly with the gaunt man standing stiff as a board that was never far from her side. She vaguely remember their names (Edelgard and Hubert, she believed) from when her father had enrolled her here, specifically to be in this class with them. He wanted Bernadetta to learn class and etiquette from them. She thought Edelgard was the Adrestian princess, but wasn’t so sure any more. She might have been some high ranking official’s protege or other.

There was another girl that caught her eye. She had her hair a light, fierce purple in a high ponytail and braids. Bernadetta took a strand of her own messy hair and looked at it. The dye had faded from its once loud purple, the first thing she had done when she came to Garreg Mach. This had to be the princess from Brigid. She looked kind of cute, with a serious look on her face, talking to herself. Bernadetta couldn’t hear it over the chatter of the other students. She couldn’t remember her name.

The chair next to her scuffed back, and Bernadetta snapped her head forward on reflex. She shut her eyes tight, willing with all her might that whoever sat next to her had just bumped the chair and did not intend to stay. _Stupid Bernie. Who would want to sit next to you anyway._

A few more scrapes on the floor, and _whuff_ of air (very nice smelling, floral air) passed her by and and Bernadetta knew she was doomed.

“Hi there. Name’s Dorothea.”

Bernadetta opened her eyes and looked out of the corner of her eyes first. The very nice smelling, floral woman next to her had her hand offered for a handshake.

“Bernade-de-de-” she started, voice hitching. _Stupid Bernie._ “Bernadetta.” She offered her hand to Dorothea.

Dorothea took her hand by the fingers, crossing them over her own, and brought them very gently to her lips. “Charmed.” Bernadetta’s eyes went so wide she felt they might fall out of her head and roll off the table.

“Sorry. Was that too much? Sorry. You just looked so nervous,” nice smelling, floral Dorothea said with a small grimace.

“No. It was quite nuh-nuh-nice,” she said in a breathy voice. 

“I only do that for the cute girls, you know.”

Bernadetta’s brain was so shocked she forgot to feel scared, but the shock was wearing off. _Stupid Bernie. I’m not cute._

“Hey, don’t say that about yourself. If Dorothea Arnault says you’re cute, you’re cute. Okay Bern?”

“Suh-sorry.” Bernadetta had not realized she had said it out loud. _Stupid Bernie. Can’t even keep your stupid words to yourself. No one wants to hear you._ There wasn’t much venom behind the thoughts, though, just reflex.

Dorothea gave her a small smile, put her things on her desk, and got up, leaving another _whuff_ of nice smelling, floral air. She walked over to the pretty girl with the purple braided hair, the princess from Brigid whose name she couldn’t remember, and thought that Dorothea’s name sounded familiar, but she couldn't place it. Her father’s dossier on the nobles she would be attending Garreg Mach and the skills she had to learn from them had not mentioned anyone else, so she assumed Dorothea wasn’t a noble.

A commoner. Bernadetta’s stomach tightened so intensely she though she might have been stabbed. Her father wouldn’t like it if she associated with a commoner. She couldn’t learn anything to be a better wife from them. He thought they were uncouth at best. She would probably be a worse wife. _Stupid Bernie. Stupid, stupid Bernie can’t even see men like a wife should. You can’t even think about the_ idea _of a stupid husband._ But her father wanted a perfect wife, and he had spent a lot of effort on proving that desire on her body. Bernadetta’s wrists ached.

Dorothea was learning on the table with the pretty girl from Brigid, and just like she had with Bernadetta, brought her hand to her mouth. The pretty girl from Brigid paused for a moment and then pulled Dorothea’s hand back to her own mouth. _Oh._

Dorothea let out a bright laugh that cut through the chatter of the students, nodding her head enthusiastically. Bernadetta entertained the though of being bold enough to do that. She wondered if Dorothea’s hand was nice smelling and floral like the rest of _whuff_ s of air that accompanied her when she sat down.

* * *

It was meal time. Mid-day. The line was long, but she braved it since she hadn’t come for breakfast and knew the Black Eagles had training in the evening. There wasn’t enough time to go hole up in her room, so she picked a bench about as far from anyone as she could think of.

Bernadetta had actually had a very pleasant time once Ms. Casagranda started classes. She was just as charming as she remembered her visit to Varley when she was a child. Bernadetta would never tell a soul that seeing Ms. Casagranda perform was when she was certain she was a girl. Little Bernadetta wanted to be just like her, one day. Of course, over time, she realized she had no talent for singing, and would never be quite the beauty that Ms. Casagranda was then, or was even now.

Her brain was so tired from studying that she only gave herself a half-hearted _stupid Bernie_ out of habit, and picked at her food. It was some thick soup with meat in it that made her mouth itch. The taste wasn’t bad but it felt like swallowing hot mud and she couldn’t bring herself to go get a different dish. She just ate the roll and garden salad it came with.

Coming across the hall, she spotted a short red-haired girl with a gorgeous blond woman carrying trays. The short red haired girl waved at her. _HI THIS IS ANNETTE._ Bernadetta’s vision blurred, limbs tightened. Quick pulse, small breaths. Her feet wouldn’t remove themselves from the ground.

Annette stopped a few tables away and said something to her friend. She looked at Bernadetta curiously, then at Annette, nodding, and sat down nearby with a few other students.

“Hi Bernadetta. Would it be okay if I sit here?” said Annette putting her tray down.

“Yuh-yeah.”

“Did you get your meds? I was really worried but when I went to bed last night, the stuff I brought you wasn’t there.”

Bernadetta nodded, focusing on Annette’s food because looking at her was too much. There was a plate of fish and chunks of potatoes covered in a white sauce. It smelled really nice, and didn’t look like hot mud. She also had a muffin like one on her tray yesterday, but Bernadetta was positive she didn’t see any on offer.

“Where dih-did you get the muh-muh-muffin?” Bernadetta mumbled around the last piece of her roll.

“Oh, I made them with Mercie yesterday. Mercie’s that girl I was with earlier. She’s my best friend. I love baking with her,” said Annette enthusiastically. “That muffin on your tray yesterday was form the same batch as this one. Did you like it?”

“Umm…” Bernadetta was not ready for the vigor or speed that Annette was talking

“Oh, where’s my head. I’m doing this whole introduction thing in the wrong order. I’m Annette. My friends call me Annie.”

“Um. Bernade-de-detta. You can call me Bernie if that’s too much. I don’t really know anyone here yet.”

“Bernie’s a nice name. You know me, now. That is, if you want to. And I can introduce you to Mercie. She’s really nice. You’ll like her.”

“I don’t really feel like meeting more people today. My head kuh-kind of hurts and this food is gruh-gruh-gro—” _Stupid Bernie. A perfect wife doesn’t complain about her husband’s stupid food._ “I’m not really that huh-hungry.”

A look of concern passes over Annette’s—no, _Annie’s_ face, but it’s short lived. “Is that the stew? They were out of it when Mercie and I got food.” Bernadetta nodded. “If you want, we could trade. I want to keep my muffin though.”

The thought of the fish and potatoes sounded really good. “Only if you want to.”

Annie swapped the trays, but kept her muffin like she said.

A few minutes passed of eating in silence. Bernadetta felt uncomfortable. She didn’t know what to say to Annie, but Annie didn’t seem too bothered. She had red hair pulled into pigtails that came up in loops, and fiery blue eyes that were very expressive. Annie moved a lot, but not in the fidgety way that Bernadetta could get when she was nervous.

“Bernie, can I ask you a question? Well, kind of an implied question statement thing,” Annie said with a kind of gravity looked very foreign on her. She stopped moving so much, put her elbows on the table, and crossed her arms slowly.

“I guh-guess.”

“We take the same kinds of meds. Sorry for peeking. The bags Manuela gives out are all the same, and I wanted to be sure you got the one for you. I was kind of hoping we could be friends. I don’t… know anyone else like me. Like us, now.

“I started off on a _really_ bad foot with you and totally understand if you just want me to let you be yourself in peace. Or we can just try to be normal friends and I’ll forget I ever saw your bag of meds, if you want. I don’t know.”

Bernadetta has a hard time breathing for a moment. She was aware of people like her, the court physicians didn’t seem surprised, and she had always had care. _Stupid Bernie. You’re just a burden on your father. A perfect wife doesn’t need to be cared for, she needs to care for her husband._ But even as Bernadetta ran through the list of things that weren’t perfect about her, she realized how lonely she had been.

Of course she was alone. No one knew her here, except for Annie and, she supposed, Dorothea as well. But she was also _lonely._ Her whole life had been training— _stupid Bernie_ —for being a perfect wife. Marrying a noble man for her father. It hurt. The training hurt. The isolation hurt. Bernadetta hadn’t really ever been allowed to exist until now, she had only ever lived for her father, being her father’s perfect wife. That wasn’t Bernadetta. There was no Bernadetta.

Spurred on by indignation and anger at her fucking father, always about him, his perfect fucking wife she would never be, _could_ never be, Bernie took a big step. Maybe her very first step.

“Yuh-yeah. I’d like to be fuh-fuh-friends, Annie.”


	2. Fwip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for this chapter  
> \- past trauma  
> \- touch-related trauma

Bernie was no good with swords. Or lances. She didn’t even try axes, as Hubert was hovering near them with Edelgard, and he seemed to terrify everyone away. She didn’t try either magic disciplines, as nice smelling, floral Dorothea was near them, and she terrified Bernie in a very different way. But the bow… it wasn’t the worst. Bernie not only managed to not hurt herself (unlike lances) or others (unlike swords) but she actually hit the target a few times, which was more than anyone else here. Except the pretty girl from Brigid, who seemed quite at home with both the bow and the sword, and who was standing directly behind her. The hairs on Bernie’s neck stood up as arrow after arrow flew out from the side of her vision.

“I am pleased to be meeting you. Dorothea says you are Bern? I am Petra.” _Fwip._

Bernie stopped readying her next arrow. Her arms ached terribly but it felt kind of nice, like a really good stretch after taking a nap, if the nap involved strenuous exercise.

“Bernade-detta, actually.” _Fwip._ “You’re really good at that.”

“I am having a lot of practice before now.” _Fwip._ “I am using sword better, but I am liking bows as well.” _Fwip._ “Are you liking bows as well, Bernadetta?” _Fwip._

Bernie thought for a moment. “I don’t know about liking them, but they’re not bad. I didn’t really like the rest. Most of the other nobles have already had truh-truh-training of some kind.”

She knocked an arrow— _fwip_ —and drew.

“Bernadetta. Your feet are being placed wrong.”

“Oh, I’m suh-sorry…” Bernie whined. _Stupid Bernie. Even when you have one thing you’re not a danger with, you’re still ruining it. Petra thinks you’re stupid too._

“It is okay. I can be teaching you, if you are wanting?” _Fwip._ “If you are not wanting, it is okay too.” _Fwip._

Bernie released the tension on her draw, thinking about something Annie had said earlier. _If you want._ The idea of being instructed sent an icy shower down her nerves, but Petra sounded nice. If Bernie got along with Dorothea, and Dorothea got along with Petra, she felt reasonably confidant that Petra would probably get along with herself.

“Maybe juh-just a little, if that's okay.”

The _fwip_ s stopped and Petra walked in front of her. She was about half a head taller than Bernie, and wore an inscrutable expression. Not stern, not pleasant, not angry. Not anything at all. Another shiver rushed down Bernie’s nerves, and her hands started to sweat.

“You are watching me. Like this.” Petra widened out her stance, maybe a full half pace from how Bernie was, with her feet nearly touching. Bernie moved her stance wider and looked up to Petra for appraisal. Petra took the tip of her bow and tapped the inside of her boots. “More like this.” Bernie adjusted her stance so her toes were in line with Petra's.

“You are being good, Bernadetta,” Petra said with a smile in her voice that her face did not show. “Your back is being straight, like the tree. If your back is bending, your arms are not being used right.”

Bernie found that breathing was a little easier with her back stretched out, and that helped her arms relax.

“Now you are drawing.” And before she could really get a full draw, the string slipped through her sweat slick hands. The arrow went short and wide. Bernie immediate slumped down, relaxing her pose, and shut her eyes tight. _Stupid Bernie. Stupid, stu_ —

Her thoughts were interrupted by Petra’s laugh, and Bernie felt the incredible urge to run and hide in her room, but it was like each _ha_ of Petra’s bubbly laugh stuck a pin in her feet and she could not bring herself to move.

“This is my mistaking, Bernadetta. Hunters in Brigid are having gloves to cover their wet hands. You are seeing?” Bernie opened one of her eyes and, indeed, Petra was holding her hands up with gloves. “In Fódlan, I am seeing some use a powder. I am thinking it might be better for a fighting technique. You would be feeling the string on your hands, but the powder is making the string not slip. Maybe I am trying this...”

The explanation caught Bernadetta off guard. She was fully expecting to be chastised or corrected. Trained. She looked up at Petra, who seemed to be far closer than she thought she was moments ago.

“That might be guh-hood,” Bernie said with a small voice. Petra smiled. “You can call me Bernie. If you want. My fuh-friends call me Bernie.”

“I am please to being your friend, Bernie.” Petra cracked a smile that shattered her early expression. Maybe that’s what she was like when she was serious. Or hunting. Bernie offered her hand for a friendly handshake, emboldened by change in demeanor.

Petra picked her hand roughly between her fingers, and Bernie felt her ice-covered nerves replaced by ones on fire as she realized what Petra was about to do. Petra very matter-of-factly drew Bernie’s fingers to her face and… just touched them to her nose. Bernie let out shaky breath through teeth, and felt her face split into a goofy grin that she did not feel on the inside, just the physical release of removing stress.

Bernie tried to put her hand down, but Petra’s grip was very gentle and felt more solid than a tree. She continued to smile, but it grew strained with worry, a worry she recognized as something on her own face in the mirror, the worry that you have done something wrong and someone had noticed. It didn’t touch her eyes, and her cheeks sharper somehow.

A wave of sympathy crashed over Bernie. She couldn’t let this poor girl stay like that. Her… her friend, Petra. So Bernie worked up the courage she didn’t really feel she right to borrow, thought of how effortlessly Dorothea had done this exact this to her this morning, and shifted her grip on Petra’s fingers so that they lay in her palm. Bernie closed her eyes. She did not want to see the kind of face Petra made in the new few seconds.

Bernie brought Petra’s hand to her face and, after just the smallest hesitation, pressed her nose against Petra’s glove.

“You’re supposed to say ‘charmed,’ Bern,” whispered a very nice smelling, floral voice behind her. Bernie nearly fell over at the surprise, but Petra and shot out her free hand to steady Bernie.

“Dorothea! You are being mean to Bernie,” Petra half shouted over her shoulder.

“Maybe I was a _little_ mean. Sorry. You okay?” Bernie jerked chin over her shoulder. Dorothea stood behind her, where Petra had started, bending a little at the waist. She looked more than a little embarrassed, leaning on a bow like she could hide behind it.

“Sure, Duh-duh-horothea. I’m fine I guess,” Bernie said quietly, trying her hardest to keep the whine out of her voice. She hated the way it sounded just like when she thought _stupid Bernie_ thoughts. _Stupid Bernie. You can’t even take a little joke. You’re so easy to pick on, and Dorothea hates stupid Bernie now._ Tears started to gather around her sinuses, making them ache for release. “Juh-hust scared me. I’m sorry.”

“You are saying this is what Fódlan does for pretty girls, _Dorothea._ I am not liking you scaring Bernie.” Petra’s voice flared with anger she she said Dorothea’s name. Petra looked at Bernie, her expression fierce. “Bernie is wanting to leave?” It was all Bernie could do nod and not break down on the spot right there. “Then we are going.”

Petra turned to leave, and finally took her hand out of Bernie’s. She had completely forgotten it was there. Petra had tried grabbing Bernie’s wrist, probably with the intent of firmly pull her away from Dorothea, but as soon as those strong fingers clamped down, Bernie felt her whole body jump.

“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!” she screamed.

Bernadetta ripped her wrist free of Petra’s grasp and ran out of the training yard, legs stumbling, almost losing balance from the shock.

* * *

There was a polite, firm knock at her door. “Miss Varley, we must talk. Could you be a dear and come to my office after evening meals? I’ve asked Miss Dominic to get a tray of food for you,” said Ms. Casagranda, voice muffled through the door and then again through the layers of bedding Bernadetta was under. She said nothing. She simply wished Ms. Casagranda would leave her alone for the evening, and the next day, the next week, and perhaps even the next month. She might feel like getting out of bed by then.

Ms. Casagranda gave a heavy sigh, and her voice lost the tone of authority, and she sounded like _please, call me Manuela out of class_ from yesterday. “Bernadetta, I understand your need for space, but I really am here to help, okay? I am looking forward to your visit this evening. Be well.”

* * *

 _I HOPE YOURE OK BERNIE_ _  
_ _ANNIE_

Annie left two muffins on her tray this time, each on the corner of a note with a heart and a smile drawn on either side of her name. It tore Bernie up. The deep heat of shame shone on her cheeks, tears gently running down the side of her cheeks. She wanted to say _stupid Bernie_ to herself but just couldn’t muster up the storm of emotion when she really wanted to let herself have it. She just felt drained from the past two days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear bernie bear you'll have a nicer time next chapter. just hang in there


	3. Tea, not Blood

The evening sun beat through the gauzy dark red curtains in Ms. Casagranda’s office. The heat was stifling. Sweat dripped heavy down Bernie’s neck, soaking her new uniform in so many places. Ms. Casagranda sat across a low table, knees drawn up and to the side. Even with the curtains, the table was awash in sunlight, the color of freshly scalded skin, violent light red.

There was a ceramic cup in front of her, with a small base and wide mouth that Bernie thought looked kind of like a really tall bowl more than anything. Inside, blood. Or at least, a tea that looked very much like blood that had been watered down. It scared Bernie, of course, but she had asked for this. Begged, even. With it finally in front of her, she wasn’t sure what to do.

“Bernadetta, darling. You should drink that before it gets cold. I promise you, it will be much worse after that,” Ms. Casagranda said, the strain of the day making her sound tired and weary. Old. Bernie shivered at that thought. Ms. Casagranda was her idol, everything she wanted to be. The idea that she sounded _old_ was one Bernie did not like, because she looked every bit as gorgeous as her memories held. More mature, of course. Dignified. Not _old._

Bernie nodded her head, and leaned forward. The sun hit her cheek, and she became aware of how slick it was. Beads of sweat from minutes ago formed into a rivulet at being disturbed, running down past her ear. The cup was warm to the touch but not nearly as hot the blood looked inside it. Tea, not blood, tea. She lifted it gingerly to her lips, hands trembling just enough to slosh the tea inside around. Bernie puffed out a breath, relaxed her shoulders, and took a sip.

Bernie very nearly spit it back out into the cup. It was about the most bitter thing she could imagine tasting. Her tongue tingled at the memory, angry.

Ms. Casagranda was watching her carefully. One of her eyebrows raised just ever so slightly, and she pulled the tired expression off her face into an easy grin. “You definitely want to take this as hot as you can handle. The shock of heat makes it go down easier. Don’t add anything to it, or it will lose a lot of potency, and I’ve been told that even if you did add honey or cream, it never really masks the taste, just puts it on top.”

“I cuh-can see that. Um. Ms. Casagranda—”

“ _Bernadetta,_ ” she said sternly. A small sigh, then her voice softened again. “Please call me Manuela. _Miss Casagranda_ makes me feel like a mother.”

A rush of emotions ran over Bernie much to quickly for her to grasp any of them fully. Heat crept up her face unrelated to the sweltering air in Ms. Casagranda’s office. Calling her _Manuela_ like she’s just some woman, an acquaintance, her friend—well no, probably not a friend. The familiarity frightened her. “Muh-muh-manuela…”

“Thank you.”

“Are you muh-mad at me?” Bernie said, voice shrinking as she went on.

“What? Why would I ever be upset with you?” Ms. Casagranda said.

“I hurt Pe-pe-petra.”

“You most certainly did not. Petra is quite the tough nut. If anything, she seemed rather upset at the whole affair. Asked several times if she could come see you to apologize,” Ms. Casagranda explained.

“Really?” Bernie sounded mystified. She hadn’t even _considered_ that she didn’t hurt Petra. The reaction had been so swift and instinctual, and the reflexive shame that followed.

“A little slap on the hand isn’t going to break her, darling. I’m also going to have a talk with Dorothea about her behavior. Honestly, I don’t know what’s gotten into her,” Ms. Casagranda said in a defeated tone. “Well, I can rather guess at that. I was like her at your age, you know. I wanted all the pretty boys to look at me too. But this isn’t a place to flirt.”

Bernie’s eyes felt much like this morning, ready to pop right out of her head and into her tea. “Fluh-fluh-flirt?”

“Oh, Bernadetta… You should keep drinking your tea.” Bernie took a disgustingly bitter sip, grimacing as it sent tingles down her tongue and throat. “The staff here at Garreg Mach, specifically the officer’s academy which you are attending, are not blind. Kids your age, well, you know.” Ms. Casagranda took an appraising look at Bernie. Her tone turned back towards the one she used while teaching. “Or, hm, maybe you don’t. I’m not your mother, however, and if you want to speak on such matters, please see me during infirmary hours.”

Bernie felt like she might die on the spot. Oh, yes, Bernie knew, but was very glad that Ms. Casagranda sensed her extreme embarrassment. She was not ready to breech the subject of flirting, much less about flirting with girls. Definitely not with her teacher, Ms. Casagranda. Her idol, Manuela. _Stupid Bernie. You shouldn’t be looking at girls like you should a stupid husband. Your stupid eyes should be from a perfect wife, not_ for _a perfect wife._ She took a great big gulp of tea just so she could hide her face behind the cup. It was not pleasant.

The two of them were silent for some time while Bernie finished her tea. Her entire mouth tingled, and the tip of her tongue felt numb. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Ms. Casagranda.

“How have you been otherwise? You’ve had two stressful days. I’m worried. Did Annette bring you enough to eat?”

Bernie looked up from the dregs of her tea to Ms. Casagranda. Her eyes were soft, lips in the barest of smiles. Her chest hammered when she looked at Manuela’s lips, quickly breaking her eyes away, back to her cup.

“Annie has been very nice to me. I think we’re fuh-friends now. She gave me two muffins today.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful to hear, Bernadetta. I’m glad you’re getting along. Her muffins are quite tasty. I wish Mercedes would bring me more, but I’m too embarrassed to ask her.” Ms. Casagranda gave a low chuckle.

“Um. Ms. Cas—” Ms. Casagranda shot Bernie a dangerous look. “Muh-manuela, thanks for talking with me. I, um, I don’t ruh-really know why I’m here. I mean, I know _why_ I am here but…”

“I know. I’ll be frank, I don’t like turning the lot of you kids into soldiers, much less officers. Some of the students here are ready, but so many of you are… well, you’re just _kids._ Bernadetta, you’re seventeen. You should be out there, discovering yourself, not picking up swords and bows to play at soldiers. But I’d rather be here, teaching you how to protect yourself and your fellows than in a medical camp patching you up because someone else did a poor job getting you there. That’s the attitude I want to give to my students. Better they do a good job than someone they don’t trust fucking it up and getting someone _killed._ ” Ms. Casagranda let out a shaky sigh. “My apologies. As you can tell, I have strong feelings on the matter.”

Bernie thought for a moment. It made sense when Ms. Casagranda said it, but Bernie still didn’t feel at home here. Of course she wouldn’t. Most of her life had been about becoming a perfect wife for some noble man to marry into the Varley lands. She couldn’t even grant her father a true heir. Her husband would have a _mistress._ The thought of being so useless stung.

Bernie downed the last of her tea. Her mouth tingled so much she barely tasted it. “Um. Thuh-hanks for the tea. I should, um, go, I think. I need to take uh buh-buh-bath tonight.”

“Of course, darling. You still have your key?” Manuela asked.

Bernie nodded. The key to the bath house. It was placed carefully under her bed, with her journal, and the pile of notes from Annie. She didn’t want to let anyone else see these. They’re precious to her.

Ms. Casagranda rose from her seat, and Bernie rose too. “Good girl. See you in class. Take care, Bernadetta.” She gave Bernie a quick, kind squeeze on her shoulder as she left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to aim to update this twice a week, now that the initial rush of creation has worn off. Check me out on [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com/moonsmoocher) where you find me being gay.
> 
> bernie bear, i won't make you have the birds and bees talk with your celeb crush right after you 👀 her lips but i DID consider it


	4. Something Fruity and Sweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for this chapter  
> \- past abuse

The next few days went pretty okay, as far Bernie was concerned. Petra apologized the following morning, and Dorothea that evening, though she seemed to have been coerced by Petra. No one else talked to her, which was just fine by Bernie. Her meals were had in silence, in the safety of her room, where she doodled in her journal and wrote snippets of story ideas. She was really looking forward to the next day off when she could just hunker down in her room and do that all day.

Field training went smoothly. Bernie found she actually was pretty good at archery, for a complete novice. Petra helped her work on her form, at a respectful distance this time. Bernie wasn’t sure if they were still friends, or if they ever were for more than a minute. Petra called her Bernadetta now, and while friendly during training, never got closer out of the range. Bernie didn’t like to admit it, but she wished Petra would say something to her. Whenever she looked at Petra, her heart did a little flip, but of course no one would want to be friends with _stupid Bernie._

The tea, which Bernie had taken to calling blood tea because of the creepy hue that looked just like fresh blood, had been harder to keep on schedule. The balance of getting it hot enough to mask the bitter taste while not scalding her tongue was not one she had gotten the hang of. At least it didn’t smell like it tasted. It wasn’t a pleasant scent, but it wasn’t overpowering and didn’t linger in her room.

The end of the classes for the week were upon her now, and Bernie had been assigned to take care of the lawn this week, with Dorothea, much to her dismay. At first she wondered if Dorothea was going to be so friendly again that Bernie would overreact and hurt her like she had hurt Petra, but it seemed Dorothea wasn’t interested in being near her. She kept pulling weeds and trimming shrubs on the opposite end of the green with a girl with fiery pink hair and one of the largest men she’d ever seen, both from Golden Deer. She could hear the three of them talking animatedly as they worked. Bernie couldn’t bring herself to watch Dorothea kiss the pink haired girl’s hand.

Instead, Bernie found herself working with Annie and her friend Mercie, which she learned was short for Mercedes. Annie was easy to talk to, she found out, because she talked a lot and didn’t seem to mind if Bernie didn’t say much, but she never butted in, and always left room for Bernie to say something if she wanted. Mostly she was talking about magic and the new tomes she was able to try. Bernie didn’t know much about magic, but she could tell Annie really wanted to get better. Mercedes talked even less than Bernie did, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. She added things about the differences between the two major disciplines of magic, since she was on the other side of things as Annie, but mostly was enjoying her friend’s energy at meeting someone new.

By the time they were done, the midday bell had rung. Students and staff had already lined up at the mess hall. Bernie’s stomach growled in protest, as if it’s low rumble could scare off the crowd.

“Sounds like you’re hungry. Do you want to eat with Mercie and me?” Annie asked, wiping the sweat off her brow with her forearm, leaving small streaks of dirt in exchange.

Bernie knew by now that this offer was a genuine one, and Annie would not be upset if she decided to take her leave. Maybe that’s why she didn’t feel cornered, like she needed to run away and hide. “Um. That would be nice, I think. But the line is so luh-long…”

“Oh, that’s not what we meant,” Mercedes chimed in. “We were actually wondering if you’d come with us. I’ve already made some snacks, and Annie has the last of the muffins in her room.”

“We?” Bernie asked.

“I, um… I thought it would have been nice to eat together, once I found out you’d be on lawn duty with us. I hope that was okay, Bernie,” said Annie, just a hint of embarrassment creeping in her voice.

“Yeah. That’s okay,” replied Bernie, stunned.

“Oh!” Annie leaned close to her ear. Her tone was gentle. She smelled like grass, but Bernie thought everything smelled like grass right now. “If you want to have your tea from Manuela, you can do that before we head out. I like to have mine with lunch but I don’t want you to feel like you need to as well.”

“Um, actually I had it yesterday. Suh-sorry, Annie,” Bernie said quietly. She didn’t even know why she was sorry. She pushed down a few _stupid Bernie_ s before they could take hold. Annie was just being considerate.

“Oh, that’s not a problem! No problem at all.” Annie beamed bright enough to burn Bernie’s face like the sun burned her neck. “Mercie, I’m gonna grab the rest of those muffins. Take care of Bernie for me? Thanks!.”

Annie dashed off towards the dorms without giving her or Mercedes a chance to respond.

“Bernie, how are you doing, dear?” Mercedes asked in a few moments. They had not moved.

Bernie looked at the ground, suddenly feeling much more shy without Annie nearby. “Um. Fuh-fine, I guess.”

“You don’t have to come eat with us if you really don’t feel like it. I don’t even mind letting you and Annie have time to yourself. I’m perfectly capable of enjoying my meal alone. I know it’s easy to get caught up in Annie’s enthusiasm.”

“No, I’d, um… I’d like that. I’m just bad at being fuh-friends, I think, but I want to.”

“I’d like if you did. We’ll be eating in my room, dear,” said Mercedes. They walked in silence. Bernie wasn’t sure if it was a comfortable one or not. Mostly, Bernie was hungry and tired.

Mercedes puffed out a breath, and said, “Bernie... May I ask you a question? You aren’t obligated to answer it if you don’t want.”

Bernie thought about it for a moment. The fact that Mercedes didn’t want to press her on it told her that she was safe to nod her head in assent. “How do you feel about casual contact? Touching and the like,” asked Mercedes, her speech slow and deliberate.

Bernie thought about it as they visited the washroom and cleaned the dirt off her hands and the greenery from under her nails. She smelled a little less like grass and felt a little more like herself. She wrung her hands over her neck, trying to get the worst of the sweat off. She allowed herself a momentary thought of Petra doing that, as well. It was pleasant. The idea was daunting to even consider.

Bernie didn’t answer until they were at the dorms. She walked with her head down, carefully following Mercedes’s feet in front of her. On one hand, she knew she frightened easily. Touch from others was almost always unexpected, and a lifetime of fear had really done a number on her nerves. Whenever she felt a hand on her shoulder or wrist, Bernie thought immediately of her father, and the things he had trained her on. To be quiet, to be obedient. Even her uncle, as rare of an appearance in her life as he had been, the most nicest person she had known before coming to Garreg Mach, never laid a finger on Bernie, whether in kindness or wrath.

On the other hand, she remembered Dorothea’s gentle greeting. Intense, yes, but gentle. She thought about Petra’s gloved hand, warm through the leather, firm without being harsh. It had made her feel safe. Even though she was sure the two girls didn’t want anything to do with her anymore— _stupid Bernie, who could blame them_ —Bernie found she couldn’t really let go of that feeling. Gentle, warm, firm. She wanted it again, wanted desperately for Petra to hold her hand, for Dorothea to press Bernie’s fingers to her lips and say _charmed_ in that nice smelling, floral way she did. She wanted Mercie to do it too, and Annie.

“Um. I’d like to truh-try, Muh-muh-mercie. But, um, I don’t want to huh-hurt you.” Bernie said in small voice.

“Dear, I doubt you could hurt me if you tried. I was asking more for Annie’s sake. She very much likes to touch and hold and hug, like myself, but… well, you’ve seen. The girl acts before her mind is made up, sometimes. She’s been very careful around you. Whenever she wants to get your attention, she almost tries to touch your arm before calling your name. She most definitely stopped herself from hugging you in greeting this morning.”

Bernie thought the idea of a hug from Annie would be nice, if she was allowed to be the one who started it. She thought the idea of a hug from any of the girls in her life would be nice.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you for asking, I think. Um, I duh-don’t really know about that all that stuff. I try to keep to myself. I’m sorry,” said Bernie. For some reason, she felt her face pinch in that familiar way that meant tears were somewhere in the near future, but she wasn’t scared. She wasn’t upset or angry. Bernie felt happy. But why would she cry if she was happy?

“I won’t mention it again, but, my dear Bernadetta, you’re always free to ask me for a hug. Annie, too,” declared Mercedes in a soft tone.

“Yeah…” replied Bernie, her voice more a whisper to herself than for Mercie.

“Well, this is my room. Are you still sure you’d like to eat with us?”

Bernie nodded.

The meal was, in fact, leftovers from this morning. Mercedes set about warming up the sausages and rolls on the small fireplace when Annie returned, a small basket in tow. Bernie felt a little useless as the two girls set about preparing the table but both Annie and Mercedes in turn gently rebuffed her efforts to help. She was their guest, they said.

“Bernie dear, what is your favorite tea?” asked Mercie after the warm rolls and sausages had been set on the table.

“Um, I don’t really nuh-know tea. Something fruity and sweet?” Bernie replied.

“I’ve got a lovely berry blend. Will that do?” Bernie nodded. “Wonderful. Annie, if you would give me your pouch I’ll set yours steeping as well.”

“Oh, right! Thanks Mercie,” said Annie.

Bernie couldn’t stop thinking about those sausages. She really was rather hungry, but neither Annie or Mercedes had eaten first, and wasn’t sure if it would be okay to eat before them, so she sat still and tried to think unhungry thoughts. It was not very effective but it kept her mind busy while the tea was prepared.

A few minutes later, as Annie and Mercedes chatted animatedly about something Professor Hanneman—head of the Blue Lions, Bernie supposed—had said about some magic thing that went way over her head, Mercie poured Bernie a cup of tea. It smelled just like she described earlier, fruity and sweet. Bernie took a sip. The taste did not let the scent down.

Annie’s cup of blood tea was much larger than the one Ms. Casagranda had asked her to take. Bernie’s eyes went wide at the idea of trying to drink that much of the bitter tea. Annie gave a few preparatory puffs of breath, and took a sip. No, not a sip. This was no sip at all. Annie had drank a full half of the massive cup of tea in one go.

Annie screwed her face is disgust, shoulders shuddering. “Yyyeughh!” Then without missing a beat went and did it again.

Bernie was in awe. “How do you _do_ that!?”

“Lots of practice. It’s been, what, a whole year now, right Annie?” answered Mercedes.

“Around that, yeah. Gets easier over time. You’ll learn,” Annie said, glancing at Bernie.

Bernie’s blood ran icy. Her eyes, which were moments before locked on the food, shot up to Mercedes. Shame ran through her, the kind of reflexive shame of being seen, exposed. Her muscles ached and cried in pain as her whole body went rigid. An animal part of her mind gripped her body. She desperately wanted to run, but couldn’t bring herself.

A litany of _what if_ s ran through her mind. What if Mercedes thought Bernie wasn’t worth her time? What if Mercedes got angry? What if Mercedes thought she was a freak? What if Mercedes got angry at her not being a perfect wife? What if her father came to her room at night, with the ropes? What if her father made her sit in that fucking chair again, for hours and hours and hours, as her hands and feet went numb, as her back screamed in pain, as she fought panic until she was so exhausted she couldn’t move? What if, what if, what if…

“Bernie, are you okay?” a gentle voiced ask from her side.

“Huh?” Bernie snapped back to Mercie’s room.

Annette was at her side. Her eyes were wide with worry. She brought her hand to Bernie’s shoulder, thought better of it, and let it down.

“Um. Yeah. I’m okuh-kay. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for, dear,” Mercedes said, worry apparent in her voice but Bernie couldn’t bring herself to stop looking at Annie, and Annie’s very pretty, bright blue eyes. Her face was very close to Bernie’s. She could smell the blood tea on her breath, and the scent made her mouth tingle in memory. Her lips, too.

“Are you hungry? I’m hungry. Can we eat?” Annie said, quickly moving away, her face nearly as red as her hair.

“Of course, feel free,” said Mercedes, her tone measured and restrained.

They didn’t talk much after that. The sausages were nice, but the rolls were a little dry. The muffins ended up being stale, but Bernie had expected that. Still very tasty. They reminded Bernie of the way Annie wrote her name and put a little heart and smile next to it. The silence wore thin, flexible, like breaking in a new boot, and soon enough Annie was her usual bubbly self, humming here and there, making small talk with Mercie. She often glanced at Bernie, to see if she wanted to say something, but Bernie was just fine to sit in her chair and nurse the last of the tea, nibbling at half a roll, looking every so often to Annie.

“What’re you grinning about?” Annie asked Bernie, chin resting on her hand.

“Can’t I smile? I’m having a nice time,” said Bernie said defensively, but her heart wasn’t in it. For the first time since coming to Garreg Mach, hiding in her dorm for a month before classes started, leaving Varley lands and her father, and much before then that, Bernadetta von Varley was _comfortable._ Bernie smiled even wider.

“I’m really glad, Bernie. It’s been lovely. But I should probably get going. I’m gonna make tarts this week!”

“Oh, wonderful!” Mercedes chimed in. “I’ll get my things ready.”

“Well… I kind of wanted to make this batch myself,” admitted Annie, shrinking in her seat a little.

Mercedes let out a little _oh!_ Bernie felt like she was watching something that she shouldn’t be. She kept her eyes down, taking the last piece of roll and popping it in her mouth. This was a private moment between friends she didn’t feel right intruding upon.

“Of… of course, dear,” Mercedes said with a sigh and a tight smile.

Annie stood up and walked over to Mercedes, she gave her a tight hug from behind, a friendly kiss on her cheek, “Well then. I’ll be off. You two girls be good.” The prospect of staying in Mercie’s room alone, without Annie, was too daunting for Bernie.

“Um, I can, um, walk you out, I thuh-hink. Would that be okay?” Bernie asked. Annie nodded enthusiastically, red rings of hair bouncing, when Bernie rose. “Thanks, Mercie. You’ve been very kind to me today. I, um, I hope this was okay. Sorry for being…” Bernie trailed off when she saw Mercie’s eyebrows creep up her head. “Th… thanks.”

Bernie leaned over for a quick one armed hug. Mercedes put one of her hands on Bernie’s forearm, leaned her head against Bernie’s for just a moment. “You are always welcome here, dear.”

Bernie pulled away, carrying the scent of Mercedes with her. It was a heady one of sunshine and stale sweat and the berry tea they had. She liked it very much, and tried to keep it in her nose as she and Annie left the room.

“Bernie…” said Annie, in a low voice.

“What? I’m juh-juh-just being nice. We’re friends. Friends can huh-hug.”

Annie showed off her brilliant smile to Bernie. For just a moment she was sure Annie was the sun herself because Bernie’s face felt very warm and grew hot as she walked to her dorm. Annie was walking along side her. It was nice. Annie was nice to be around.

“Um. This is my room.”

“It sure is.”

“I’ll, um, I’ll see you around, Annie.”

“You sure will.”

_Here goes nothing._ Bernie leaned close and put her arms gingerly around Annie’s shoulders.

“Bernie… can I hug you too? Is that okay?” Annie asked, very close to her ear. Much too close, Bernie felt, because she was rather embarrassed about doing it alone. In fact, Bernie wanted nothing more than her friend to do just that. She felt the fatigue of the week, the kind that sleep didn’t help with, the kind that rested in her brain, pull down the last of her defenses. The threat of tears from before made good, finally, just leaking out down the walls Bernadetta pulled around herself, the same ones Annie so effortlessly scaled and pulled down.

“Please, Annie. I’m sorry for earlier this week. I’m suh-sorry I made you worry. I’m ruh-ruh-ruh-really suh-suh—” a sob wracked Bernie’s body. Her knees felt weak. Annie’s shoulders felt a very safe place to be right now.

“Shhh, Bernie, it’s okay,” Annie said and placed her hands loosely around Bernie’s back. “Let’s get you inside.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bernie: hey annie you ever think girls?  
> annie: damb. girl
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com/moonsmoocher) where I am gay. Chapters (hopefully) twice a week.


	5. Teat Grass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for this chapter  
> \- internalized homophobia  
> \- internalized transphobia

Annie was gentle, shutting the door with her boot, holding Bernie in her arms. She only applied the most gentle pressure to her back, small gentle rubs between her shoulders. Bernie felt like she might break in half without support, snapped cleanly off at the waist like a twig. Her face was buried in Annie’s shoulder, her tears already soaked through the cloth.

“Bernie, I’m here. I’m here,” whispered Annie, her voice a mixture of concern and consolation. She led her friend to the bed, the little half sidle, half shuffle a tough process. Bernie tried her best to follow Annie’s lead, but her feet seemed to bump into everything, and when she tried letting go of Annie’s shoulders, she nearly fell on the ground. Annie’s hands pressed against her a little more firmly. She felt a lot more steady on her feet after that.

When they made it to Bernie’s bed, she crawled under the covers as soon as she could. Letting go of Annie was not easy, but the urge to hide, to surround herself with cloth, was overwhelming. Her shoulders shook from sobs so violent she didn’t even make a sound. Her head spun with the need for air. Her body spun with the need for shelter.

Annie sat down on the edge of the bed. Bernie felt this distance between them. She wanted to go back to Annie, wrap her arms around Annie, hold Annie, be held by Annie. The weight of the blankets felt more solid than the stone walls of Garreg Mach.

“Would you like me to leave?” Annie asked. Bernie shook her head. She wasn’t sure if Annie could see her, but her breathing was too much of a struggle to consider forming words.

Annie did not leave. She stayed until Bernie had started breathing, stayed until she cried so much she felt dizzy, stayed until she fell asleep, stayed until she woke up. Annie was still and quiet, most of the time, only rubbing Bernie’s back or shoulder through her blanket. After what felt like an entire day of crying, Bernie felt safe enough to poke her head out.

“Thank you,” Bernie said.

“You’re welcome. How are you feeling?”

“Better.”

“Sounded like you really needed that,” said Annette with a sigh. Her hand went to Bernie’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“I guess I did. I’m sorry.”

“It’s _okay,_ Bernie. If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t have come in.”

“You wanted to muh-muh-make tarts,” said Bernie. She was too tired to feel ashamed of holding her friend back.

“I can make them tomorrow, I just won’t have them for a midday snack.”

“Sorry.”

“ _Bernie._ Please,” Annie said firmly, “ do not beat yourself up. It’s fine. I will make them tomorrow, and you can have some after dinner if you’d like.”

Bernie rolled over to look at her friend. Annie’s face was slick with old sweat. The flesh around her eyes were puffy and inflamed. One of the little loops that she kept her pigtails in had come loose. Bernie wanted to run it through her fingers for some reason.

“Why are you nice to me?” Bernie asked under her breath. She didn’t expect Annie to hear her.

“We’re the same. We’re the same, Bernie. Both in the wrong body. Trying to fix it.” Bernie’s eyes widened as the full realization hit her. _We’re the same._ She nodded. “Oh, Bernie, I’ve felt so alone. Mercie does her best, goddess knows, but she’s not like me. Not like you. I love her but she doesn’t know what we’re going through.”

“You love her?” asked Bernie, feeling her chest flutter for a reason she couldn’t put words to.

“No! I mean, yes, I love Mercie, but not… like that. Not anymore. She’s my best friend,” Annie trailed off. Bernie wanted to know what _not anymore_ meant but the way Annie’s bright eyes clouded up when she said that warned her off. “Are you hungry?”

“No, but I should probably eat something. Feel like I’ve been run over by a horse.”

“Want me to get you some food?”

“I’ll… I’ll go get it myself if I cuh-can come wait in line with you. I don’t feel like eating out there.”

“Would it be okay if I ate with you in here? You kinda scared me back there and I’m worried. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Dinner with you sounds nice.”

Annie cracked that smile that made Bernie’s face heat up like she was back under the noonday sun.

* * *

Bernie swallowed a lump in her throat that was unrelated to the very nice meat pie that sat comfortably in her stomach. “So, um. When did you know? That you’re a guh-guh-girl?”

“I think I’ve always known. It wasn’t until I met Mercedes that I realized. She took me under her wing. The Royal School of Sorcery is no joke. Mercie was very kind to me, more kind than I felt like deserved at the time. I was kind of a jerk to her at first, because she had everything I wanted, at least I thought.” Annie picked at the remains of her own meat pie.

“I’ve known too. My father was very kind about it,” lied Bernie. She stuck to the story she told everyone about her father, about who she was. It was easier than thinking about the truth. She was too tired to try to not lie about it. Too tired to open those wounds. Bernie was afraid of what she might find under the scars. “He tuh-tuh-tuh—” and Bernie closed her eyes until she saw stars. “I learned from him, how to be a guh-girl.”

“What about your mother?”

“Mama tries. She thought it would be a good idea for me to come here to learn from other girls my age. I miss her.” This was also a lie, but less of one. She really did miss her mother, but not because of sentimentality. She was scared of what her father would do… will have done, by now, when he found out Bernadetta wasn’t on Varley lands anymore, and who was responsible.

Annie watched Bernie’s face, her own a reflection of practiced neutrality. Bernie thought maybe they were both lying about something, and maybe that was okay right now.

“What about your family?”

Annie’s face tightened by such a small amount, Bernie thought it might have been a trick of the light. “My mom doesn’t know yet. I wasn’t showing through my clothes when I graduated.”

“Showing?” asked Bernie, confused.

“You know,” Annie placed her hands on her breasts, “ _showing._ ”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I don’t ruh-really know about all this. I’ll, um, stop. Fuh-forget I said anything. Sorry.”

“ _Bernie._ Don’t worry about it. Soon enough, you will too.”

Bernie’s chest felt cold and tight when she thought of her own breasts. It felt like when she was nearly in tears in Ms. Casagranda’s office, trying to put words to what she wanted without sounding like a lecher. It felt like when she knew she was going to vomit.

“Maybe. I have such an awful time with the blood tea, though. It was really cool watching you earlier. I could never do that.”

“Blood tea?” It was Annie’s turn to be confused.

“The herbs. The ones from Ms. Casagranda. Looks kinda like watered down blood to me.”

“That’s a funny name for it. I kind of like it. Sounds mysterious and powerful. _Ancient blood tea from the goddess herself, it gives you divine tits, oohhh!_ ” She waved her fingers and pulled a face like she was a wizened witch.

They laughed together. It was easy to laugh with Annie. They built a new myth about this mysterious ancient blood, supposedly from Seiros herself, drawn from her divine teat. When it fell upon the land, a special plant rose, and it smelled awful and tasted worse but all the women of the land could not stop themselves from shoving it in their mouths.

“Annie, Annie, what if the teat grass grew thin from overgrazing?” Bernie said through a giggle. Her face hurt from smiling.

“Where would we get it then?” Annie threw her hands up in the air dramatically. “ _Oh Seiros, please grant me one more drop of divine blood, for I am but a humble woman who wishes to be closer to the goddess’ form!_ ”

“Oh, maybe they could get it from each other? Like after hundreds of years, the teat grass all but wiped out by hungry women all over Fódlan, they are forced to… to get it from other wuh-women…” Bernie trailed off, her mouth going slack. For the third time this week, Bernie felt her eyes go so wide she felt they might roll out of her head.

“Yeah. That sounds… nice, doesn’t it. We wouldn’t have to have that awful blood tea. We could…”

Bernie could not bring herself to look at Annie’s face. She was scared of what she might see. Scared to see a mirror of her own expression, one of longing, barely kept in check. Scared that her eyes would not look at Annie’s face, but roll down to Annie’s modest breasts. Scared she would not be able to look away. Scared she would not _want_ to look away.

Bernadetta was scared she would not be able to see her friend as her friend, but as a perfect wife might look upon her husband.

“Bernie?” asked Annie in a breathy voice that sent little waves of heat from her head to her toes.

“Yeah?”

“That’s okay. It’s, um…” Annie paused for an uncomfortable moment, that stretched into two, three, four. “There’s girls like that. We can be like that. Just because we’re a little different doesn’t mean we aren’t… hungry for… that.”

“Wouldn’t that just… make us buh-buh-boys? And we know we’re not those. We’ve known forever, right?”

“Women can want other women, Bernie.”

“How do you know?” Bernie asked petulantly. She didn’t want to hear the answer she knew in her heart. Her tongue felt thick and bitter in her mouth.

“Same way you do. _We are._ ”

“Nuh-nuh-no. I cuh-can’t be. I’ve guh-gotta be the perfect wife. For my father. It’s the only way he’d let me be a guh-girl.”

“Well, fuck him, Bernie. You don’t have to do shit for him. Fuck fathers. If it was so important, where is he, huh? Where’s our fucking dads?”

The string of curses shocked Bernie. Not that she wasn’t used to uncouth language, but there was so much heat, so much _anger_ in Annie’s voice. But for once, Bernie wasn’t scared at the outburst. She recognized something much deeper in herself, a fire she felt, one she stoked in the back of her mind, under the veil of sleep.

“Sorry. I ruined the mood. It’s getting late, maybe I should go.”

“No! I duh-don’t want you to go. I don’t want to lose you,” Bernie said, the reedy _stupid Bernie_ whine creeping in the high tones of her voice.

“I meant to bed. For sleep. I’ll be here tomorrow.”

“Oh, right. Yep. That makes sense. That makes total sense.” _Stupid Bernie. Of course she meant go to bed. But maybe if you keep being such a stupid Bernie, she’ll leave for real. Wouldn’t that be great? Wouldn’t it just be perfect for stupid Bernie to lose the first friend she’s ever had the same week she met her?_

“Don’t call yourself stupid. You’re not stupid and I don’t want to hear you say it.”

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to, um, suh-say it out loud…”

“I know, Bernie. I know you didn’t. But it hurts to hear. You’re too hard on yourself. We both are, probably. I don’t know. I’m tired.”

“Me too.”

Annie got up. “Is it still okay if I give you a hug?”

“I think I like hugs from you. I don’t know about other people, but you’re safe.”

“I’m really glad you feel like that. I feel safe with you, too.”

Bernie got up and almost before she was standing, Annie was upon her, arms tight around her shoulders. Bernie stiffened in reflex, but only for a moment before putting her arms around Annie’s waist. “Thanks for today. It’s kind of weird to say after this afternoon, but this was the best day I’ve had in years.” Bernie’s words were muffled slightly, and she caught a stray hair of Annie’s in her mouth. Her nose wrinkled.

“I feel the same.” Annie’s voice was low and sleepy.

“Hey, uh, Annie… we kuh-kind of stink.”

“Goddess, we do. But I don’t want to let you go, Bernie. And I’m too tired to take a bath tonight. I just want to crawl in bed. You’re lucky you got a nap. I, wonderful and loving friend Annette, stayed by your side for _hours_ and kept you company.”

Bernie felt the reflex to be ashamed but there was nothing behind it, no force. It just passed over her.

“You’re the best, Annie.”

“You know it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ladies is it gay to suck on teat grass? 😳
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com/moonsmoocher) where I am gay. Still on that two chapter a week pace!


	6. Bernie Bun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for this chapter  
> -depiction of a panic attack  
> -childhood trauma

_“My dear Bernadetta, your feet are being placed wrong again,” mewls Petra._

_Bernadetta rolls her shoulders. “My princess, what do you mean? My feet are placed exactly as you said. Maybe you should come a little closer, kitten, and show me with your hands…”_

_Petra saunters closer to Bernadetta, tossing her bow aside, her strong hands wrapping themselves around Bernadetta’s slender biceps._

_“I am showing you, little rabbit. Do not run away from me, this time. I will chase you, and I will find you. I am the best hunter in Brigid. No one escapes from me, Bernie.” Petra’s mouth is so close to Bernadetta’s. If only she could move, she could reach her, but Petra’s grip feels like the softest rope. For once, Bernadetta doesn’t struggle against the fetters. She leans into her, but her arms are held fast. Bernadetta’s blood quickens. “If you are taking my instructions seriously, I will consider rewarding you.”_

_Petra slides her hands up and over Bernadetta’s shoulders, and she shivers at the touch. Petra looks down, a hunger in her eyes that cannot be masked by focus. She slides her hands down Bernadetta’s breasts, stopping for just a moment over their peaks, and starts to kneel. Bernadetta tries to close her eyes and enjoy the sensation, but she can’t look away from Petra. Hands slide over her skirt, to reach her knees. Those soft, strong hands move down Bernadetta’s slender legs, the skin tingling under Petra’s smooth palms._

_...wait, skirt? Where are her trousers?_

A loud slam jolted Bernie awake, and she shouted. During the moment of silence that followed, Bernie’s face screwed itself in longing. She was _really_ enjoying that dream, even if she knew she shouldn’t. Bernie hadn’t stopped thinking of Petra after Annie left last night. It felt like something changed within her. She had repeated Annie’s words over and over, between thoughts of Petra. _Women can want other women, Bernie._

“Bernadetta? Are you being okay? Should I be finding help?” Petra asked urgently from outside her door.

Petra, _here,_ outside of her door? Bernie growled in frustration and embarrassment. Of course she’d be here. Of course she’d interrupt her dream version from laying hands on Bernie. Who would want to lay a hand on _stupid Bernie?_ Not Petra, no. 

“I’m fine. You just woke me up,” Bernie shouted from under her covers.

“Please be taking my sorry, Bernadetta. I am having something to discuss with you today.”

“Um. Cuh-cuh-can it wait until tomorrow?”

“It is important to me.”

Bernie sighed, certain her plan of sitting in her room all day, sneaking out for meals, and maybe looking for Annie around dinner were shot through. Petra was not a woman that gave up, she had found. “Can you wait for a bit? I’ll be right there.”

Petra didn’t say anything further, so Bernie dragged herself out of bed. The room was cold and dark. It’s not even past sunrise, probably. She shivered at the chill and drew her blanket around her shoulders before heading to her door. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself, and unlocked her door, and opened it.

“Bernie! I was thinking you are going back to sleep,” Petra said cheerfully. Bernie was not sure how anyone, even Petra, could be this cheery before sunrise.

“I fuh-fuh-feel like I could.” Bernie tried and failed to stifle a yawn. “So, um, you wanted to talk?”

“Yes. In Brigid, we have act of marking ourselves. Some markings are forever and some must be repeated. I am noticing you are marking in your hair. Many of our classmates are marking in the hair as well, yes?”

“Yeah, I think.” Bernie was not awake enough to figure out what _marking in the hair_ meant by context and if she nodded along, maybe Petra would leave her alone and she could go back to sleep. She felt a little guilty at being confused by Petra’s words because she knew she was trying her best to learn the language of Fódlan.

“Your markings are coming out. I am thinking perhaps you would want to be helping me and I can be helping you.” Petra reached over and took some of Bernie’s hair in her hand. “We have similar markings in the hair.”

Bernie stiffened at the sudden intrusion in her personal space. Petra’s hand wasn’t gloved, like it was when they trained, and it was very close to her face. Bernie was torn whether or not to flee, or give in to the small voice in her head, the one that’s always been there, the one she started listening to last night for the first time, to lean her head over and trap Petra’s hand between her cheek and her own. This voice frightened her because it only ever spoke about nice things, things that _stupid Bernie_ didn’t deserve.

“I can be finding someone else if you do not wish to be helping…” Petra trailed off and dropped her hand. The way Bernie’s hair moved on her head then sent tingles over her scalp and down her spine.

“When do we stuh-stuh-hart?”

* * *

As it turned out, they started just after sunrise. Bernie found herself in the bath house, in tattered old clothes Petra had given her, stained around the shoulders with the vibrant purple dye Petra used, regretting her earlier uncharacteristic boldness. Bernie tried _very hard_ not to think that Petra had worn these clothes. Instead, she was thinking intently that Petra _had_ worn these clothes. There was a stray hair on her lap, long and looping. Petra’s hair.

Petra’s voice came from behind her, from across the room. Bernie wished it was closer. “Please be getting comfort in your sitting. I will be marking your hair first to be showing you how I am doing it, then you can be helping me.”

“Is it going to be as bruh-bright as yours?”

Petra did not respond, and Bernie felt anxious. Perhaps she had said something offensive. I mean, she was _stupid Bernie_ after all. Maybe Petra was having second thoughts. Maybe—

“Are you saying something? Your voice is not reaching my ears.”

Bernie let out a shaky sigh. Now that she was more awake and less frustrated at being woken up before sunrise, her nerves returned in force. She turned in her seat to face Petra, but could not bring herself to look.

“Um, is my hair going to be as bright as yours?”

“Your hair is dark and mine is not. It is not likely to be happening,” said Petra, who was busying herself with the dye, “but it can be if you are wanting it.”

Bernie felt her chest fill with pride. “I like my puh-purple hair. It was the first thing I did after luh-luh-leaving home.”

“So your markings also have meaning. This is happening in Fódlan?”

Bernie shrugged. “I don’t know if it happens a lot. It’s just how people are here, I guess.” Her father said that dyed hair was the mark of a commoner and would make her unsuitable as a perfect wife, but she knew other nobles who visited had dyed their hair. Bernie had always dreamed of having silky purple hair, and she did it herself the very first night after arriving at Garreg Mach. Sometimes she regretted doing it herself, because it was uneven and rough and she ruined her first uniform, which she still had hidden away, but never the act itself.

“I am liking my hair as well. In Brigid, the markings in my hair have meaning of royalty. I am not needing to keep my markings when I am not in Brigid. I am doing this for me. You are doing this for you.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Petra.”

“It is not being a problem, Bernie.” Again, she called her Bernie. Petra had stuck firmly to _Bernadetta_ this whole week, and the memory still stung. Maybe, just maybe...

“Um. Are we… still friends?” she asked. Bernie kept the whiny _stupid Bernie_ tone out of her voice, but she could hear it in her head. _Stupid Bernie. She gives you space and you want to cling to her like a stupid child._

“You say your friends are calling you Bernie,” Petra said with warmth in her voice, thick and soft like a blanket for her ears, and left it at that. “The marking is being ready. Can I be touching you? Or will you be running scared like a little rabbit?” teased Petra. She could hear the grin in her voice.

Bernie’s face lit up with a blush, but it wasn’t unpleasant. She knew when Petra called her a rabbit, she did so with kindness. It was something she did when helping Bernie’s form in the training yard, a bit of companionable humor to put her at ease, but she liked it. She liked it a lot.

“Where could I hide? You’re the buh-best hunter in Brigid, aren’t you?”

“I am never saying such a thing!” Bernie recalled her dream from this morning and the blush that had been firmly floating in her cheeks moved to her ears. “But you are correct, Bernie bun, I could be tracking you wherever you choosing to hide. Okay, you are facing other way, please.”

“Buh-buh-bernie bun?” Bernie asked as she turned around.

“Is bunny not being the word for cute rabbit?”

_Cute!?_ “Um. Yes, it is.” No, the rabbit is cute, not _stupid Bernie._ She could never be cute.

“Then you are being Bernie bun, when we are alone. If that is being okay with you…” Petra trailed off.

“That sounds really nice. Um, the bunny thing, not buh-being alone with you. Nuh-not that I don’t like that! Being alone with you sounds really nuh-nuh-nice too! Both are nice.” Bernie floundered, but before she could work up any serious _stupid Bernie_ s, Petra let out an easy giggle from behind her.

“I am understanding. I am also enjoying time with you. Please, be leaning back. Your head is being on my knees to make marking easier.”

Bernie’s head, in Petra’s lap? She felt like she could cast that fancy fire magic she sees in the training yard sometimes, just from the heat coming off her face. Summoning all the courage she could, which did not feel like much, and definitely wasn’t enough, she leaned back on the bench. Right as she felt she was about to lose her balance, she felt Petra’s hands support her shoulders on the way down. She let out a soft _ah!_

“There you are, Bernie bun, I am having you. You are not falling with me around.”

Bernie let herself be led down to the bench, her head just barely touching the inside of Petra’s knees. She shut her eyes very tight, more than a little afraid to look Petra in the eyes.

“Are you being okay? Your face is red.”

“It’s, um, a luh-luh-little embarrassing.”

“There is no need for embarrassing. I am a proud warrior of Brigid! I am liking greatly to mark your hair. We are fighting together. It is important.” Bernie heard the same wobbly energy when she was floundering earlier, and it made her feel a lot better. She opened one eye to look at Petra. Her friend’s face was probably as red as her own. Bernie couldn’t help but giggle. “Fine. It is embarrassing. But we are embarrassing together!”

The dyeing itself was rather simple. Petra rinsed her hair with warm water, ran her fingers through it (which felt very nice) to take out all the tangles (which felt less nice). Then she applied a thick paste that smelled kind of like overripe fruit. The scent stuck in her nose and made her eyes water, so she tried her best to keep her eyes closed and breath through her mouth, but sometimes she just wanted to look at Petra. She had some of the focused expressions she did when they were training, but it never reached her eyes. Petra’s eyes were soft and low. She looked happy, and every time Bernie stole a glance at her, her heart did that same little flip it did when they were training. _Women can want other women, Bernie._

Petra hummed while she worked, a tune with lots of fast notes that reminded her of birdsong. “You are being sure to get all the way to skin. The marking is for hair, it will not mark your head for more than one cleaning.”

“The word we use is dye.”

_“Die?”_ Petra sounded shocked, but her pace didn’t slow down. She had Bernie turn her head with a gentle touch.

“Dye, suh-spelled D-Y-E. An action and a thing. Dyes, dyed, dyeing.”

“You are not playing tricks on me, Bernie bun?”

“No! I’d nuh-never do that. Not with words, you know that.” Bernie had helped Petra with some words she was unfamiliar with while training, especially ones that caused confusion, like the archery butt.

“I am not wanting to hurt you. You will not be dying in my hands, but you will be dyeing me soon,” said Petra with a satisfied chuckle. Bernie was continuously surprised at how easily Petra picked up wordplay and humor. She ended nearly every new word demonstrating her understanding, often with a joke. With that, she went back to humming the birdsong. Bernie relaxed. She felt very safe in Petra’s hands, darting here and there, applying the paste, rubbing it in.

Before long, Petra said, “You are being done! Let me be helping you up.” She gently helped Bernie to a sitting position. Her back protested at this, and she felt as stiff as the bench she was on. “How are you feeling?”

“Feels weird. Heavy.”

“Think about how I will feel. My hair is much more than yours. Your neck will be strong. Soon you will have a head spin like rabbit. Come with me while I am cleaning my hands.” Petra got up, and Bernie tried as well but, like her back, her legs were stiff and uncooperative. Petra held out her hand, covered in a dark purple muck. Bernie hesitated. “It is being on your hands soon. I am helping.”

Bernie resigned herself, and took Petra’s hand. The dye was warmer than she expected, because her head felt rather cool, and it wasn’t as slimy as she had feared. Petra pulled harder than Bernie expected, putting her off balance, but she was steadied right before she fell over. “Remember, you are not falling with me around.”

“I guh-guh-guess not. Thanks.”

After they cleaned up, Bernie sat next to Petra, facing the wall. As Petra undid her braids, a few people were coming into the bath house. Bernie felt very nervous. She was not used to being around other women who were bathing. She had her own key to bathe after hours, alone, thanks to Ms. Casagranda. She assumed Annie had one as well, but they’ve never met. Maybe other students had their own. Bernie had never been bothered.

Petra finished her hair, brushing it loose. “Bernadetta, are you being ready?”

“I don’t nuh-nuh-nuh—” She shut her eyes. “I don’t know. There’s people here now.”

“Is this being a problem for you?” asked Petra. Her voice was tight.

“Kind of. I don’t come here when there’s puh-people.”

“I am understanding, little rabbit. You are not wanting to be seen. You like being in the burrow. I can be marking— _dyeing_ my hair on my own... if you are needing to hide, Bernie bun,” Petra said. Bernie thought she heard disappointment in her voice, but it was also warm and kind. She didn’t know what to make of it, so she sat still for several moments.

“Um. I… I cuh-can stay. I need to wuh-wash out my huh-huh—” Eyes shut. “My huh-hair, anyway.”

“You do not need to be helping me.”

“No! I want to help. I wuh-want to be a better fuh-fuh-friend.”

“You are already being a good friend to me. But, if you are wanting to help… you are having to face me. You are a _warrior,_ Bernadetta. You are my friend.”

“I… I am your friend,” Bernie said quietly, nearly under her breath. Then loud enough for her to hear, “Petra, I am your fuh-friend, and I will help you.”

Bernie turned to face Petra.

Dyeing Petra’s hair had not been as bad as she had expected. Once she got past the very nerve fraying activity of having Petra’s head between her knees—desperately trying to avoid thinking _anything_ about Petra between any part of hers, knees or otherwise—and rinsing the rather alarming amount of hair Petra had been hiding in her braids, Bernie got to the actual application of dye, and that was simple.

Between Petra’s talk of her homeland, foods she had tried since coming to Fódlan, occasional birdsong hum, and the focus needed to make sure the dye material was applied thoroughly and evenly, Bernie hardly noticed the people around them, cleaning themselves of the night. At one point, Bernie was pretty sure she knew Dorothea had come, because of that now-familiar nice smelling, floral _whuff_ of air that always followed her around. At another, she spotted Mercedes, who gave her a small wave before departing.

She never felt fully relaxed, but all the distractions played off each other to keep Bernie in a state of anxious equilibrium. Her desire to run away from Petra balanced carefully with the press of people coming through the bath house for their morning routines kept her effectively trapped. Even so, Petra’s camaraderie took off the edge, and she never felt truly threatened by the people milling about.

“Um, I think that’s everything, Petra.”

“You are having my thanks! Can you be helping me up?”

Bernie looked at Petra’s face directly for the first since since she had started. Petra was… well, she was _beautiful._ Bernie had known that Petra was cute. Pretty, even. She even came to accept that she fancied her over the day— _women can want other women, Bernie_ —but now, Bernie saw. She really took a moment to observe Petra. Lines at the corner of her eyes, forehead windburnt, flaky skin on her cheeks. Lips dry but smooth and healthy, just barely parted. Lips that, if Bernie just leaned forward, she could—

“Bernie?”

_“Eep!_ Yes, helping up, I can be helping you up. Help you up. I’m huh-huh-helping.”

“You are not needing to be scared, Bernie bun,” said Petra with a giggle. Her back was very defined through her ragged shirt, Bernie found, and her fingers tingled as the muscles moved under them. Petra did not need help up.

“Um. So I can wash my hair now?”

“Now is being a good time for washing. Unless, if you are wanting it to be bright like mine, you will be waiting.”

Matching hair with Petra was too much for Bernie. She excused herself and found a corner as far away from anyone else as she could, eyes down. Her heart hammered in her chest, high and thin. Fear came quick and easy now that Petra was busying herself with cleaning up their space, away from Bernie. She was scared that someone would say something to her, ask her about her hair or the dye or what she was doing with Petra. She was scared that someone would say something about how she didn’t belong there. More than anything, she was scared someone she knew would see her, and _know._ Know that she was not… real.

She did not want for care, growing up, but she was always unwelcome. Her father had made it very clear to her that _Bernadetta_ would not be a real Varley unless she could produce an heir, and the court healers knew that it was a lost cause. They would be held accountable on her inevitable failure, and treated her with only the barest of comforts. Little Bernadetta felt so alone then, for years, but she learned to take some solace in that loneliness.

She tried to bring that solace back. The ability to be complacent alone among the company of others. It was a skill that she had never fully succeeded in honing, but anything, anything at all stop her fucking heart from cracking open under the stress. Her breaths came quick. A chunk of dye slid from her forehead, loosened by a cold sweat.

“Bernie, are you being okay?” Petra said, her voice heavy with concern, still on the other side of the bath house.

Bernie couldn’t make her mouth produce any sounds because it was so sticky and dry. She shook her head and hunched over, feeling every inch of a trapped rabbit. _Stupid Bernie. Petra was right, you are a stupid rabbit, always running away and hiding, and now you’re stuck. You’re fucking stuck, stupid Bernie. You deserve to feel this terror._

A warm hand touched her forearm, and Bernie started at the touch. She looked up to see Petra in front of her, eyes wide with worry, the lines in the corners standing.

_No, I’m not fucking okay, Petra. I’m scared. I’m really scared. I’m scared out of my mind._ She wanted to yell at Petra and she didn’t know why. Bernie wanted to shove her away and run back to her room and stick her head under her pillow, gross shit in her hair be damned. But Bernie didn’t move. She _couldn’t_ move.

“I am waiting here with you,” said Petra.

It was all she could do to nod. Petra led her to another bench, in the corner, and sat her with her back facing the wall. Bernie tried picking up a bucket of water to rinse her hair. It slipped through her weak, shaking fingers and spilled with a loud _thunk._ Petra jumped at the noise next to her.

“Bernadetta, you are leaving this to me. I am taking care of you now.”

Moments later, Bernie found her body gently guided by Petra. Lean forward. That helped, for some reason. Her breathing wasn’t as sharp, and she was able to take deeper breaths. Then, Petra’s fingers in her hair. “Be closing your eyes, little rabbit.” Bernie nodded and followed. Simple, easy, to let Petra take control.

Warm water washed gently over her head, taking the dye with it. Petra hummed that birdsong, slower now, letting the notes hang for moments at a time. Between the frequent rushes of water, Petra’s humming, the darkness of closed eyes, Bernie found it much easier to be calm herself. Petra’s fingers did not linger overlong, Bernie lamented. She wished her fingers would stay in her hair forever. She wanted to lean into those fingers, and the hands they were on and, and into the arms those hands were on. She wanted to be wrapped in Petra’s embrace.

But, even such safety has its limits. Those fingers left her hair, and Bernie’s scalped tingled pleasantly at the memory.

“I am being sorry. I was wanting to finish before people had awoken. Like rabbit, you are not dealing with people well. We have been taking a long time and I am failing to protect you.” Petra’s voice was low and watery. “I am just wanting to be your friend. I am not as good with your language as I am wishing. I am much preferring to do things, to be showing you that you are my friend.”

A short _mm_ was all the sound she could make, but Bernie grabbed Petra’s hand and gave it a small squeeze. She hoped that this was enough to tell Petra that she was okay now, or at least okay enough.

“Would you like me to be taking you back to your room?”

_Home._ She nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> looks like our bernie ~~bear~~ bun has a big ol' gay crush
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com/moonsmoocher), where I am gay. Still on that two chapter a week pace.


	7. Practice

Purple. Her hands were purple. They were so incredibly _purple_. She had tried to wash off the last remnants of the dye so much that her hands were red _as well as_ purple. The purple was so strong that she couldn’t even try drawing or writing because she kept leaving purple smudges. Bernadetta was mortified at this, and could think of no better solution than to sleep for at least an entire month, except she didn’t want to ruin her pillowcase in case that _also_ turned purple from her hair.

Instead, Bernie sat in her room, head on the table, unable to think of anything but Petra, and Petra’s giggle, and Petra’s birdsong, and anything else she could grasp, because if she wasn’t thinking of Petra, she was close to having a fit over her damn _purple hands._

Purple! Hands!

Could she try to pass it off as some mysterious illness, perhaps? A rare and contagious and ultimately harmless disease, one whose treatment required her to sit in her room and be alone and have food delivered to her by someone who absolutely could not be Petra, because Petra definitely _also_ had purple hands, and everyone would _know_ if they saw them together.

No, that wouldn’t work. An injury? No, that would get Ms. Casagranda involved, and she would know immediately. Fake her death? No, that would probably upset Annie. Cut off her hands? That she could work with… but then she’d have no more training sessions with Petra, and Bernie very much wanted to have training sessions with Petra again once her hands stopped being _fucking purple._

She picked up her head and dropped it back down with a hollow _thonk._

“Bernie, _stupid Bernie,_ what have you _done?”_

Well, she had a nice time with her friend Petra, who was beautiful and made Bernie’s hearts do flips. Her friend Petra, who made Bernie’s face hurt because she couldn’t stop herself from smiling even now.

Maybe purple hands were worth it.

* * *

Purple hands were not worth it.

When the evening bell rang, Bernie left her room to get some food. She even found Annie and Mercie and another Blue Lions student, a tall red haired boy who introduced himself as Sylvain. When he offered to shake her hand, Bernie took her still very purple hand out of her trouser pocket and Annette screamed in horror. Sylvain excused himself promptly and wandered away, looking at Bernie over his shoulder. A hungry Bernie swiftly found herself led to the infirmary by the two girls as she stuttered excuses about how _normal_ this was, and nothing was wrong with her, but they weren’t having any of it. 

“Excuse me, she has _what?”_ asked Ms. Casagranda, brow furrowed, hands at her temples.

“Purple hands, Manuela. Bernie has purple hands!” Annie nearly shouted.

“Annette, dear, you better hope Bernadetta has purple hands. Today is my day off. You _know_ this.”

Annie roughly yanked a purple hand out of a very embarrassed Bernie’s trouser pocket.

“Well, it seems you’re off the hook for now.” Ms. Casagranda’s eyebrows crawled up her forehead. “Bernadetta. Why do you have purple hands?”

Mercedes and Annette held their breaths. Bernie felt like she might cry. “I duh-duh-dyed my hair with Petra this morning. I truh-tried to tell them but they wouldn’t listen...”

“And there you have it. Miss Martritz, Miss Dominic. _Leave.”_

* * *

“I’m so sorry. You were just so cute, worried over Bernie like that. I couldn’t say anything!” Mercedes said, punctuated with the occasional giggle.

“You _knew,_ Mercie! You just let me make a fool of myself in front of Manuela. And Bernie too!” Annie turned to Bernie and muttered, “Oh, and your hair looks lovely. Sorry.”

Bernie looked down as the three of them walked back to the mess hall. “Don’t wuh-worry about it.”

“You two are just so _cute_ together. I’m so glad Annie found you.”

Bernie’s face lit up in both a smile and a blush. “Please. I’m nothing special. I’m just plain Bernie.”

Mercie put an arm behind Bernie’s shoulders and hugged her slightly. “You’re our friend, _plain Bernie,_ and that makes you special to us, right Annie?”

“Yeah! You’re, like, really special to me, you know. Who else am I gonna talk about teat grass with?”

_“Teat grass?”_ Mercie asked slowly.

“Oh, it’s, um… you know. The tea. The herbs.”

“I see.”

“W-well, um, maybe it’s time for us to go. B-bernie hasn’t had her tea yet! And you need to do your evening prayers, right? So we’ll just, um, head off this way.”

Bernie whispered to Annie, “But I’m hungry, though.”

Annie shushed her with a finger to her lips and replied, “Later, okay. I just want it to be us right now.” Bernie nodded her head.

“Yes, yes. I get the message, dears,” Mercie said, her voice low and smooth, “Have a nice _date,_ you two.”

“Goddess above, Mercie, it’s not a date! It’s just _tea,_ like we do every week,” shouted Annie, “and you are adamant that _those_ aren’t dates.” Annie had a full pout going, and Bernie felt equal parts upset about her being misunderstood and feeling like Annie was incredibly cute.

“You’re so fun to tease. Take care,” Mercie said, turning a corner. She called over her shoulder, “You still owe me those tarts, Annie!”

“Honestly, that girl…”

* * *

Their bellies were pleasantly full as they sat in Bernie’s room for the second evening in a row. Bernie sat on the edge of her bed, her blanket draped over her shoulders. Annie sat aside the desk, head resting on her elbow, her feet on the bed, under the blanket as well. She had one of Bernie’s writing quills, waving it around as she talked.

“The most important thing you need to remember is heat control. Did Manuela tell you to take it hot?” Bernie nodded. “It really does help. I tried it once when it had sat out for half a day and I _could not_ get it down, and I had more practice by then.”

“I think I know what you mean. Sometimes I get it too hot and I’m only able to get a few sips in before I have to take a break, and then it’s disgusting when I go back.”

“That’s another thing, drink it fast. If you’re off on the heat, it’s not as bad if you do the whole cup in two or three swallows. It’s a balance.”

“But it’s hard.”

“Yeah, but you’ll get the hang of it. You’re a smart girl, Bernie.”

“Um, cuh-can you show me? That’s why you’re here, right?”

“I’m here to spend time with my shy and cute friend, mostly, but also I wanted to show you how I make it. I would have _loved_ to skip two months into it and get past the rough start. That’s where I come in for you,” Annie said, nudinging Bernie’s thigh.

Bernie said under her breath, “I’m not cute, though.”

“Yes, you are. Don’t start with me, Bernie. I am giving you a compliment and you are going to take it. I won’t let anyone put you down, not without a fight, and that includes my _cute_ friend Bernie,” Annie said, jabbing the quill in her direction on the last three words. “I’m not mad but I won’t let you do it around me, okay?”

Bernie was stunned by the ferocity in her voice. No one had _ever_ felt this strongly about her before, not that she knew of. Some deep part of her felt frightened, the part where _stupid Bernie_ s come from probably, but there was something about Annie that just put her at ease. Accepted it, that she was worth fighting to defend, even defend from herself.

“Sorry. I’ll try.”

“That’s good enough for me. Okay, let’s get cooking.”

Turns out the trick to getting the temperature just right was… just practice, a lot. Annie clearly had an intuition about how to heat it properly that Bernie just _didn’t_ yet. Her gentle encouragement of Bernie left her feeling motivated instead of being put on the spot like it did when Petra tried to describe some feeling with a bow that just had to be learned by experience. When Petra did it, Bernie felt defiant. She wanted to prove herself to Petra, that her friendship was not fruitless. When Annie did, Bernie wanted to do it for herself. Annie helped her believe she could. She felt a little silly comparing the two, because one was a life-or-death skill for fighting, and the other was making tea, but they felt equally important in her mind.

“You’ve doing good, I think,” Annie said, patting Bernie’s shoulder.

Bernie shrugged, and muttered stubbornly, “I’m not so sure. I haven’t made a single cuh-cup of water right yet, let alone kept it steady for tea.”

“You’ve been doing this for all of, what, a week and a few hours? Trust me, you’re doing good.”

“Annie, I don’t have _tea.”_

“Did you think I wasn’t going to make it?”

“Um… I didn’t really think about it.”

“Clearly.”

Bernie realized she was being sulky and couldn’t stop herself from pouting, so she looked at a particularly interesting piece of thread coming undone from the blanket. Away from Annie. Even with her encouraging attitude, Bernie was frustrated. She felt stupid, and not the kind of stupid that came with _stupid Bernie_ s, that she couldn’t heat water evenly. She knew Annie was right, that she’d learn eventually, but she wanted to practice on her own. She didn’t want her failures to be seen, even if Annie had good advice on mistakes she was making in the process.

“Hey, was that too much? I’m sorry, Bernie.”

Tears threatened to come forth. Her face was tight. She sat on the bed, wrapping her blanket around her shoulders. Bernie just wanted Annie to leave so she could have her gross blood tea in peace and go take a nap so she could slip out in the middle of the night and go to the bath house. She said, “It’s nuh-nuh-nothing.”

She jumped when Annie lifted the blanket but settled down when she realized she’s getting under it with her. Bernie felt at ease, sitting next to Annie, sharing a blanket around their shoulders. She felt Annie’s arm snake around her back as she scooted closer, resting her head on Bernie’s shoulder.

“I think I was pushing you a little hard. I just… I remember how much I struggled. Mercie tried to help but I felt so alone. I don’t want that for anyone, especially not you. But you’re doing this at your pace, not mine.”

Bernie didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what she _could_ say, even if she wanted to. Instead, she untangled a hand from the blanket and gave Annie a side hug. This would have to do.

“Bernie… your hand is still purple.”

Bernie laughed. “Yeah. Puh-petra said it should go away within the week.”

_“Petra,_ huh?” Annie said, her tone sounding dangerously sweet to Bernie.

“Um, she’s in Black Eagles with me. A puh-princess from Brigid. Helps me with archery.”

“I know who she is.”

“I don’t know what you mean, then,” said Bernie, her face heating up, knowing exactly what Annie meant, and not really ready to have that conversation. It’s been all of _one day_ letting herself understand that she fancied girls and fancied Petra specifically. Annie must have a good intuition, Bernie reasoned.

“You remember what I said last night.” It wasn’t a question.

“I don’t, um, really wuh-want to talk about that, okay? I just want to have our tea, Annie. Please. I’ve had a really intense week and I just want to have our nasty blood and burrow myself into bed as much as I can.”

“Okay. You can talk to me about it later if you want.” Annie turned her head, gave her a friendly kiss on the cheek, and got up.

_Oh. That felt nice._ Bernie couldn’t stop herself from making some kind of sound as she tried her best to hide her face in the blanket, except the part of the blanket she wrapped herself in smelled like Annie, a scent of flour and books and something else she couldn’t put a name too.

“Bernie?” asked Annie. After studying a very flustered Bernie for a few moments, she said, “Shit, sorry, that’s just, um… that’s just a habit. I do that sometimes. W-with Mercedes. But not like that! I mean, on her cheek. It’s just, um, friend stuff. Friend stuff, you know? Stuff I do with my friends.”

Bernie nodded. Stuff she does with her friends, which meant Bernie too. Bernie was Annie’s friend, right? The blanket felt too warm now, so she moved to the chair by the table as Annie prepared the tea. She tried to watch what Annie was doing, but she couldn’t stop feeling her cheek, where Annie kissed her. _Friend stuff._

“Here you go,” said Annie, bringing Bernie back to the room. “Remember, go fast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just normal friend shit you do with your pals
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com/moonsmoocher), where I am gay. Chapters may slow down soon? We'll see how I feel about it.


	8. Rout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for this chapter  
> -violence  
> -mentions of death

“Morning, Bern,” sad Dorothea. She sat down and a nice smelling _whuff_ of air passed over her, this time one of baking spices and stale tea.

“Guh-guh-good morning,” said Bernie, face down on the table, hiding her purple hands under her head.

“Cute hair. Saw you with Petra yesterday. You two make up?” said Dorothea, who didn’t seem to be the least bit interested, but if she was putting in an effort, Bernie should as well.

“I was an idiot. But we did. Being out of Vuh-varley… it’s been a lot.”

“I’m _sure_ it has been,” Dorothea’s voice was tight and dangerous, a warning. Bernie didn’t say anything while the rest of the Black Eagles showed up. Dorothea was the only commoner in the class. Maybe talking about lands and worries of nobility was a bad idea, but Bernie had never felt particularly noble, and just _mentioning_ Varley was enough to get her like this.

“Duh-Dorothea? I’m sorry for yelling at you last week.”

“Water under the bridge, darling. Don’t mention it.”

“Um, fuh-fine. Are we still friends?”

“I don’t know, are you going to smack my hand away, too?” Dorothea sounded like she might cry. “Sorry. Long night. Bad night.”

Bernie felt like anything she said was just going to make things worse, so she kept her mouth shut. _Stupid Bernie. You can’t even make small talk. Dorothea hates you, after all. You’re never going to be the perfect wife if you can’t maintain focus and follow your husband’s worries._

Husband. _Right._ The idea of being shackled to some noble man, alone in some sweltering Varley stone keep… that’s what awaited her after her little stint at Garreg Mach. Even if Mama got her out of there a moon early, that’s just putting off the inevitable. She still had a duty to perform for her father. As nice as Petra was to her, as wonderful as spending time with Annie had been, they’re temporary. After all, she’s _stupid Bernie_ and no man would ever fall for a fake like her, even if she wanted them to. Which, thanks in no small part to Annette, sounded like the least appealing idea possible. With her father’s chair, at least she had marks on her body to remind her. Soon, there'll only be her loyalty to a noble, one who wouldn’t even love her. Maybe that was for the best, if Bernie, _stupid fucking Bernie_ just died alone and unmarried at her father’s hand, roped to that chair for the rest of her short, miserable life, screaming in pain until her lungs set fire and her heart crushed under the weight of the impossible a task producing an heir. The court healers had seen to that.

But then, right as she felt like her thoughts couldn’t get any more desperate and bleak, her friends—goddess, she had _friends_ now—came to her mind. Petra, beautiful, holding her steady, saying _you are not falling with me around._ Mercedes, arm on her own, saying _you are always welcome here._ Annette, saying _I feel safe with you_ right as she gave Bernie a fierce hug.

Bernie sat with those memories in silence.

Ms. Casagranda swept up the center of the room. “All right, Eagles, listen up. I’ve got some news. Eyes up, Bernadetta,” she said in a commanding tone that meant class was in session, “You too, Linhardt, war doesn’t wait for the weary.” She smacked him on the head with her teaching crop. To his credit, Linhardt didn’t jump too hard at being woken from his morning nap like he had the first time he was caught sleeping in class.

“Your dear house leader, Edelgard _von_ Hresvelg herself, has thrown you all into a mock battle with the Lions and the Deer this weekend, without so much as consulting me or the rest of the staff. We’ve got a _lot_ to cover this week if you don’t want to end up in the infirmary. We’ll be drilling every day. We’ve got the evening slot in the training yard, so we’ll all be up _late._ All. Week. Thank her.”

“Goddess, it’s gonna be a long fucking week, isn’t it, Bern?” grumbled Dorothea, and put her head down.

“Hope it’s not a buh-bad one too,” replied Bernie, trying to keep a giggle out of her voice. For some reason, seeing Dorothea so tired and upset, such a contrast to her flirty behavior before, was really endearing. She felt like she was seeing a side of Dorothea that not many people saw.

* * *

Training, really rigorous training, as it turned out, was _hard._ Not that Bernie thought it would have been easy, but she went to bed bone weary and sore, woke up stiff and exhausted, and spent the day very acutely focused on getting as much physical rest as possible while still at least managing to take notes and pay attention… mostly.

Mornings with Dorothea were rough. She snapped at Bernie and anyone else, and she had dark circles under her eyes by the third day. Bernie thought it was cute at first but now she worried. Something was clearly bothering her and Dorothea seemed determined to keep everyone at arm’s length, or at least table’s length, even if her mood cleared up by midday.

On the last evening, Petra asked Bernie if Dorothea was okay. She admitted she didn’t know because Dorothea wouldn’t talk to her, not really. Petra could not keep her eyes off Dorothea. Her expression was a mix of concern and frustration, instead of her usual focused neutrality. Bernie felt her chest tighten whenever she saw Petra looking at Dorothea, and tried very hard to ignore her jealousy. Bernie was not a child, she shouldn’t be upset that her friend was concerned over a companion, but that knowledge did little to quell the heat in her veins.

* * *

The mock battle was not even fair. The Golden Deer, led by the enigmatic Professor Eisner, easily broke the ranks and isolated the members of the Blue Lions before Hanneman forced a surrender. The Black Eagles, for their part, were uncoordinated and didn’t even put up enough fight to have their ranks truly broken.

Bernie was grateful to see that Annie and Mercie had escaped unharmed, other than wounded pride, perhaps. The same could not be said for Dorothea, who had received a rather heavy punch from the giant that she later learned was named Raphael. Linhardt did what he could to triage her injury, but his back was turned when he received an glancing arrow to his own leg. Edelgard surrendered rather than let serious harm come to her officers. Petra carried Dorothea to the infirmary, with Edelgard helping a limping Linhardt close behind. Claude was being ushered by Ms. Casagranda. She was terrifying in her cold anger.

It was the evening of the battle, and Bernie was so weary and tender from the hard week she slept through the evening meal and into the early night. When she woke up, room pitch, her knees shouted in protest if she tried to move them. She didn’t try any of her other joints for the moment, because she doubted they would fare any better. Marching is not easy. In fact, Bernie thought bitterly, marching was almost as bad as her father’s chair. She was a damn _archer,_ what use was marching anyway? Her job was not to be at the front. Let the idiots in heavy armor prance around all they liked. Next time they drilled maneuvers, Bernie was going to sit on her ass and pout and not even Petra would be able to coax her up… probably.

Letting herself stew in the negativity of the moment, rather than be stuck in the mire of the past, felt good. Not _good,_ but it was a release she didn’t know she wanted until she had it now. To be so miserable about something other than her time with her father was a rush. She couldn’t wait to get upset about whatever the next week brought, because it was here, her _home,_ not some ancient decrepit trauma that followed her like some invisible fetter.

Then, she thought of Dorothea’s pained breathing that she could hear from yards away, Linhardt’s pale face and yelp in agony as his leg crumpled without the support of muscle. To let her mind be clouded by her personal grievances, Bernie felt very selfish, but she couldn’t let the feeling go. Instead, a thick layer of shame nestled itself over her misery, wrapping her mind like a particularly thorny blanket, poking small wounds into all the indignation she felt.

This was what Ms. Casagranda meant, wasn’t it? They were just playing at soldiers right now. If this had been a real task, Linhardt might not have been so lucky to walk off the battlefield unassisted, let alone walk at all. Dorothea might not _ever_ give a nice smelling _whuff_ of air, floral or otherwise, when she sat down in the morning next to Bernie. Her blood ran cold.

This was real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter, and a heavy one. Next one will be way lighter, and longer.
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com/moonsmoocher), where I am gay.


	9. A Friendly Date

“Bernie!” Annette shouted from across the mess hall, waving her hands enthusiastically. Bernie knew better than to slip away to have breakfast in her room. Besides, it would be nice to talk to Annie. With the week of intense training, she hadn’t seen Annette once outside of meal hours, where her face was stuck inside a book the entire time.

She stifled a yawn and sat down next to her and said, “Hi Annie. You seem awfully energetic this fine, dreary morning, that is practically tailor made to spending indoors.”

“That’s true, but I was hoping you’d be free today?”

Bernie was torn between her desire to return to her burrow and enjoying her friend’s company. “What do you have in muh-mind?”

“Well, um, you know. I missed talking with you this week. It’s been…”

“Difficult? Eye opening? Terrifying? Exhausting?” Bernie offered lamely.

“Yeah, those. I, um, wasn’t able to make the tarts I wanted, and I’m too tired to bake without Mercie’s help. She’s busy in the infirmary today.”

“I can imagine.”

“How’s Dorothea and um… Linhardt? Is that his name?”

“Yeah. Apparently Dorothea has a few broken ribs. Linhardt will be fine, the arrow didn’t hit anything serious. Couldn’t you ask Mercie? Wouldn’t she know?”

Annie nodded. “Of course she would, but she’s _busy.”_

“Oh. Ruh-ruh-right.”

Annie looked at her food for a moment, picking a piece of roll and popping it in her mouth. “Besides, we’re… well, things are strained. It’s been a hard week for everyone.”

Bernie caught the dangerous tone, and changed the subject. She didn’t want to commiserate with Annie, at least not right now, not about that. “I have muscles that ache that I didn’t even know I had. I feel like I invented some of them up on the spot just to hurt.”

“How do you feel about your legs?”

“Hmm… porridge?”

“You want to go to town with me?” Annie asked hopefully. She made the most adorable pout Bernie had ever seen and knew she was doomed to follow her wherever today, and she’d do it gladly because it was Annette.

* * *

Annie assured her that once they got walking, her legs would feel better, and Bernie was upset because she was right. Once they were out of the monastery walls, a brisk breeze carried the ache right out of her bones. The overcast sky never got her too hot either. It was _pleasant_ and Bernie desperately wanted to feel grumpy about it. Yes, she longed to just be alone in her room, but just walking next to Annie down the forest path was… nice.

“Okay, there’s a few places I’d like to take you. My treat, because you’ll be buying us lunch.”

“Um, thuh-that’s fine, but why?”

Annie’s face grew dark. “Bernie, I don’t—”

“No, I mean… is today special?” Bernie cut her off before she could get stern about Bernie putting herself down. She knew that tone now.

“Well, it’s not today, but I didn’t get to celebrate my birthday this week.”

Bernie smiled, her face felt goofy with an emotion she couldn’t put a name to, somewhere between pride and affection and regret. She had missed Annie’s birthday. She didn’t know at the time, of course, but it didn’t change the fact that she felt a little guilty. “Oh! Well, huh-huh-happy birthday, Annette.”

“Thank you, Bernadetta,” Annie said pleasantly, then leaned over and kissed Bernie’s cheek. A friendly kiss, Bernie reminded herself.

They didn’t say anything until they came to town. She didn’t have many thoughts other than the ones relating to her cheeks and Annie’s lips. Bernie felt those were best left unsaid.

* * *

Annie was holding up a dress to Bernie, a sun dress that seemed to be popular among the young ladies of town, muted yellow with white trim. “Hmm. I don’t know if you really have the figure for a dress, but we can try it on if you like?”

“Annie… this is embarrassing. I wuh-want to leave. What if someone from Garreg Mach _sees_ us.”

“Then they’ll see two cute—oh don’t start with me—two cute girls shopping for trendy clothes. What’s your point?”

“I’m not an idiot. I know I don’t really… luh-look that much like a guh-guh-guh—” and then Annie is holding her in a tight hug, head on her shoulder.

“Bernadetta. It’s okay. It’s okay. We can leave if you really want to, but at least let me get you _something._ Please. You don’t even need to try it on.”

“Why are you doing this for me?”

“I will say this as many times as I need to get it through that shy skull of yours.” said Annie, stepping back and holding Bernie’s shoulders firmly, “Bernadetta von Varley, you are my friend. That’s all there is to it.”

“I don’t need a dress. We have our uniforms and stuff.”

“Okay, okay, but what are you wearing right now?” Annie asked, eyes locked on Bernie’s. She was wearing a breezy button up shirt and some high waisted trousers, one of the two sets of civilian clothes she owned. Three, now, considering Petra’s gift of a ratty top and trousers for dyeing.

“Fine. But when am I going to wear a dress? Stable duty?”

“Nope. Not working. I am getting you at least one piece of clothing because you are my friend—ah ah ah,” Annie lifted her finger to Bernie’s mouth to shush her, “and I would _like_ if it was something you picked out, but I will not hesitate to get something I think would look good on you.”

Bernie nodded her head lamely. Annie’s finger brushed against her lips as she did, and it sent the same kind of tension down her spine that she felt in the air when Dorothea was using her lightning magic. She shuddered at the sensation.

* * *

Bernie walked out of the small changing area wearing a dark purple blouse and a cream skirt that went to the floor. She wanted nothing more than to turn around and walk back in that room, maybe embrace her rabbit nature and burrow all the way back to Garreg Mach. If she started, she might get there by the next moon. However, there was a very nice girl waiting for her in the store area, one that had, much to Bernie’s ever increasing alarm, a devastating pout, that put her in the changing area to begin with.

“Um, Annie? Wuh-where are you?” Bernie tried to keep the whine out of her voice, but she couldn’t find her where she left—just outside.

“Oh, over here, Bernie,” Annie called from around the corner, no small amount of desperation in her voice.

Annie was being cornered by that girl with the fiery pink hair, the one they had yard duty with last week. Annie dipped under Hilda’s arm and wrapped her arms around one of Bernie’s.

“See, I can’t! I’m… We are, um…” Annie trailed off, looking to Bernie for help. Bernie floundered for a moment, trying to understand what Annette wanted of her, and then it came to her.

“We’re on a duh-duh-date.”

“Yeah! We’re on a date. We’re dating. And that’s why we can’t take your clothes back.”

The girl with the fiery pink hair looked at them, and said flatly, “You’re dating.”

“Yes! You wouldn’t want to ruin our date, would you?”

“You, Annette, best friend of Mercedes, practically attached at the hip to her, are on a date with this boy?”

Bernie felt blood run cold. This was it. This was everything she feared would happen. Her knees felt so weak she might collapse on the spot.

“Hilda! Bernie is a girl. Look at how cute she is.”

Hilda considered Bernie for a second. “Oh, I’m sorry. I just assumed that since you're dating—because you _are_ dating, right?—that…” Hilda’s tone became even and warm. “That was silly of me, you have my sincere apologies, Bernie,” and she continued to Annie, “You really are dating, and you’re not trying to get out of helping me? There’s two of you and you’ve got, what a single outfit or something. My noodly arms can’t carry all this.” This Hilda girl demonstrated her noodly arms by lifting four entire sacks of clothes with what appeared to be no effort at all.

“Can people who aren’t dating do this!?” Annie nearly shouted and then, spun Bernie in front of her and pressed her lips on Bernie’s. It was just for a moment and before she had time to process what had happened, Annie was clinging to her side again, looking defiant at Hilda.

“Fine, fine. I get the message. I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone. If that’s what you really are. Don’t worry, I won’t tell your girlfriend.” Hilda touched Annette’s nose as she left, carrying her bags in her noodly arms.

Annie stamped her foot. “Goddess above, Mercie is _not_ my girlfriend!”

“She's right, you _are_ fun to tease,” Hilda said with a chuckle as she left the store.

* * *

It was a date. It had to be a date, right? This is what commoner couples did. Nobles courted, commoners dated. Yes, Bernie and Annie were both nobles, but she was never taught formal courting. Her husband would have been picked for her by her father anyway. Or will be. But now, they were just two girls spending time together, who had kissed. This was definitely a date.

They were going on a date for Annette’s birthday.

Annie didn’t seem to mind when Bernie brought it up, still stunned, after they left. She said it could be a friend date, if she wanted to call it that. She just praised Bernie for her quick thinking in dodging Hilda’s task. Apparently, Hilda was notoriously lazy and tried to get anyone to do anything for her, and she was good at it. Last week, Annie stuck around the training yard for almost half a day racking the spears and bows that got knocked over during sparring. She didn’t even remember why she was there to begin with. Hilda just had that effect on people.

With that in mind, Annie ended up carrying a sack they had found left nearby full of pink clothes. Somehow, Hilda had done it again. They were doing her work, or at least some of it, because neither of them were callous enough to just leave Hilda’s new clothes in the store, something Bernie suspected Hilda had planned from the start.

Bernie, for her part, carried her trousers and shirt in her bag, wearing her new clothes. Once she got over the shock, she found them much more comfortable to wear. With some direction from Annie, she tucked in the blouse and wore the skirt higher on her waist, which ended up not only being more comfortable, but she felt better. Goddess, Bernadetta felt _cute._

“Is there any place you’d like to go? We’ve got a while more before the teahouse opens.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never ruh-really done something like this.”

“That’s okay. Oh! I’ve got a great idea. This way.” Annie grabs her hand and practically drags her around several corners. Bernie usually has a pretty solid sense of direction but with the overcast sky, Annie’s clammy hand in her own, wearing clothes she never thought she could, she felt lost in several manners. All she had was Annie to guide her.

They found themselves in front of a store with several fake animals. Small ones, large ones, several animals she only recognized from books. There were even some things that were as large as Bernie was.

Bernie couldn’t string enough words together in her mind to make a coherent sentence. Annie dragged her through the aisles, petting and cooing over almost every soft animal. She handed several to Bernie to hold, and looked at her with a pensive expression, before shaking her head and taking the toy back to its home on the shelf.

Bernie finally saw it, a small yellow cat with a fluffy orange scruff around its neck. It immediately reminded her of Annie. Small, fierce, cute, with pretty hair and a soft touch. “Um, Annie? I want to get you something for your birthday. From, um, here.”

“Oh! What is it, what is it?”

“I want it to be a surprise! That’s what buh-birthdays are for, right?”

“Okay, but I’m getting you something too.”

“You’ve already got me these clothes.”

“I did, and I’m _also_ going to get you something from here,” Annie said, once more deploying her pout, “Please, Bernie, this is fun for me, okay?”

“Pulling that face on me isn’t going to work forever. Now, shoo, I want this to be a surprise.”

Annie’s pout split into that smile that made Bernie feel like she was a personal spot of sunshine, just for her, complete with hot skin and sweat. Annie was so cute that she could barely look at her, just a glance as she left. Her body ran cold at the sudden absence and Bernie wished she hadn’t told her to leave, but there’d be no way to purchase this cat with her nearby. It was a little more expensive than she would have liked, but if Annie was treating her so nicely today, Bernie felt that she could spare the expense. Besides, what else would she be using money for? Annette was worth it.

“Bernie! What did you get?” Annie asked, looking hungrily at the bag that held her clothes, now slightly more bulky with a cat inside.

Bernie felt herself losing patience. _“Annette.”_ Is this what it was like when Bernie herself was being stubborn?

“I know, I know, it’s a surprise. Come over here, I think I found the perfect thing for you.” Bernie rounded a corner and Annie was bouncing on the balls of her feet, facing away. “I think this suits you really well.”

She spun around with a little flourish, presenting Bernie with a bear. It had dull brown fur with a bright red bow around the neck, little blue felted buttons for eyes. The nose was embroidered, a dusty black with two small white fangs.

Bernie’s eyes went wide. “Um, I luh-luh-like her.”

* * *

The teahouse was busy, and Bernie felt very out of place and underdressed. They were seated in a corner table, crowded together. She couldn’t stop her legs from bouncing while they waited for their cakes and tea to arrive. Annie placed her hand gently on her thigh, trying to quell Bernie’s energy.

“It’s, um… more crowded today than when I came here last. Sorry?” Annie offered.

“I’m fuh-fuh-fine. Just a little overwhelmed. I feel like everyone is stuh-staring at us.”

“Well, if anyone says anything to you, I’ll handle it? Do you want to hold my hand?”

Bernie snapped her head over to Annie. Her face felt tight like she had been out in the sun all day, Like her skin was too small.

“Oh, it’s just that when I got scared at the Royal School, Mercedes would hold my hand, and it helped keep my mind off the scary things.”

Bernie nodded, and grabbed the hand that was on her knee. Annie laced her fingers with her own. Almost as if a bucket of warm water was poured over her head, everything melted away. The tight feeling that covered her face was replaced with a goofy smile that did not really match how she felt. The murmurs of the other patrons that Bernie was _sure_ were about her, somehow, became a gentle burble of conversation. She let out a shaky sigh, and closed her eyes.

“Better?” Annie asked with a small squeeze. Bernie felt her fingers throb with her heartbeat.

“Thanks, Annie.”

“Anything for my best friend.”

Bernie opened her eyes to see Annie looking wistful. Her usual pretty blue eyes looked weary, resigned to some heavy truth she only just accepted, cast down to where they held their hands under the table.

“Annie?”

She brightened up considerably, “Bernie, look, my cake is here!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost to the end of the first act!
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com/moonsmoocher), where I am gay.


	10. My Best Friend

Annette’s cake was a sweet affair, compact with several thin layers with strawberry slices and cream in between. She hummed and bounced in her very Annie way, smile wide, as if she was dancing to some tune only she could hear. Bernie had opted for a mild berry sorbet—frozen food sounded like such a novelty to her, and Annie had recommended this specific dish. It came with small cookies embedded in the sorbet, which Annie had promptly stolen. Birthday gift, she reasoned. Bernie had never quite had something like it. At one point, she got a headache that felt like it was coming directly from behind her eyes, and she started to panic until Annie covered her hand, running her thumb over Bernie’s knuckles.

“What do you think?”

“It’s, um… cold. But it tastes good! The pieces of berry are juicy when they melt,” Bernie said with a laugh, “How do they do it?”

Annie rolled her eyes playfully. “How else do you think? With magic.”

“What, really? Can _you_ do something like that?”

“Maybe? I really specialize in moving air, so I work best in open areas. I work pretty well with fire, too. It’s how I make blood tea now, actually. It’s easier to stoke the flames just right with the control I’m afforded by magic, rather than bumbling about with bellows and twigs. That said, the underlying principles of energy manipulation should be similar to make something cold enough to freeze, even though their applications are different. You see—” Annie stopped herself, “goddess, listen to me ramble.”

“Nuh-no, I find it interesting. That magic stuff just dribbles right out of my head when Ms. Casagranda talks about it, but… you get so into it. It’s cute.”

Annie lit up. “Thank you, Bernadetta!”

They enjoyed the rest of their sweets and tea—which Bernie thought was kind of plain for a place calling itself a teahouse—in silence. Bernie couldn’t keep her eyes much from Annie’s hands, which frequently found contact with her own. Her fingers were longer than her friend’s, with the beginnings of calluses in places where Annie’s were smooth, tender fresh skin where Annie’s years of schooling had left their mark.

Bernie gently placed her hand on top of Annie’s, to compare them, see if they completed to make one big calloused hand. Annie just laced her fingers through her own before she had a chance. She almost yanked her hand free, but it felt really nice. Her touch wasn’t clammy like it had been before, leading her through the streets, and she had time to appreciate it. And after all, this was a date, right? A friend date. That’s something people did on dates. If it was anyone else—Bernie’s mind briefly entertained the thought of holding Petra’s hand—she didn’t think she could take it. But Annie said she felt safe with Bernie, and Bernie also felt safe with Annie, safe to hold her hand like this.

They left the teahouse, both grinning like fools, hand in hand—friend date, Bernie reminded herself again. Bernie wanted nothing more than to just walk with Annie for the rest of the day, wherever their feet took them. Unlike all the marching practice from the past week, walking with Annie was revitalizing. She never felt more energetic than when she was with her best friend.

_Oh._ Best friend. Wasn’t Mercie Annie’s best friend? Her thoughts clouded as they left town, but she didn’t let go of Annie.

* * *

It wasn’t until late in the evening, moonlight creeping in her windows, that Bernie felt like time caught up. She and Annie spent almost the entire day with each other and only just now did it feel like it wasn’t morning anymore. The walk back from town was comfortably quiet, even with Bernie lost in thought. Then, after asking sheepishly for directions, Annie was banging on Hilda’s door, demanding to be let free of her burden. Hilda was not there, so the bag sat in Bernie’s room. Evening meal followed, in Bernie’s room once again, some dull stew affair that she only ate because she knew Annie would worry if she didn’t. And recently, blood tea.

Bernie stared in awe when Annie demonstrated her specialized spell for stoking the fire for their tea. Questions whirled in her mind, none of them sticking long enough for her to grasp any of them, let alone say them out loud. Instead, Bernie was rather content to just watch, eyes wide, skin pleasantly prickling with the tension of magic in the air. It took many long moments for the tea to steep to Annie’s satisfaction, and Bernie felt like she couldn’t look away even if she wanted to.

Annie’s face was screwed in concentration, normally expressive eyes locked in a scowl that only got more intense as time went on. Her nose gradually scrunched up, sweat dripping off it by the end. What started as a thin grimace, tongue poking out between pressed lips, turned into a fierce smile of triumph. A thin line of sweat gathered on top of her lips.

Bernie wondered what she might taste like, with some amount of shame. Not enough to stop her.

And then she was done. Annie crashed into her chair like all her muscles gave out at the same time, panting, giggling. “Hah, hah… could you…“ but Bernie was already on it, pouring their cups of steaming blood.

“Goddess, Annette, that’s amazing! And you do that every day?” asked Bernie, breathless with wonder. Annie nodded. “Here you go.”

They picked up their cups and drank, shuddering and grimacing as the bitter blood scalded its way down their throats. Annie went back for more, with a second set of even stronger shudders and grimaces following. The right temperature really did make a difference. The taste still lingered in her mouth, but the heat distracted her just enough to where it wasn’t the foremost thing in her senses, and once the heat subsided, all she was left with was the familiar tingles on her tongue.

“Most magic, hah, comes in a big burst, right?” Annie explained, breath coming back to her, “Most spells you see for fighting. _Big_ punch, all at once. Hah, hah. Not a lot of spells are designed to be held steady, so I kind of had to pull apart a combat spell by hand and put it together piece by piece.”

“Can you teach me to do that?” Bernie asked.

“Bernie, no offense, but do you have any skill with magic?”

Bernie hoped she could keep the eagerness in her voice a little concealed. “Um, not ruh-really. But I can learn!”

“I’ll consider it when you have the qualifications to be classified as a mage, because I’m not really good at teaching. I’d try, for you, but I don’t want to hurt you. Or, more importantly, I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“Oh…” _Stupid Bernie. Of course she can’t teach a stupid Bernie like you._

“It’s okay though, I’ll definitely make us tea on days we don’t have class. I kind of like these evening chats we’ve been doing. They’re nice. Your room is comfortable,” Annie said, proving her point by promptly flopping herself on Bernie’s bed, wrapping her arms around Bernie’s new bear.

“Oh! Right, um, could you cluh-hose your eyes for a minute?”

“What’s up?”

“It’s a suh-suh-surprise.”

Annie looked at Bernie for a moment, her face spreading into a knowing grin, before slamming her eyes shut. Bernie rummaged around in her sack, under her old clothes, and picked up the stuffed cat she bought this afternoon. She laid down on her bed next to Annie, and said, “Happy buh-birthday, Annette.”

“Oh, Bernie, she’s wonderful!” Annie cooed, crawling over Bernie with a gentle hug, pinning her lightly to the bed. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she continued, punctuating each utterance with a soft kiss on her cheek.

“Annie, haha, sta-ha-hop, that tickles,” Bernie pleaded.

“I don’t want to! You’re my best friend, and I want to kiss you.”

Bernie finally let herself acknowledge the thoughts she’d been having all day. “What about Mercedes?”

Annie’s bright face took on a dangerous edge. “What _about_ Mercedes?” she shot back.

“I’m really huh-happy you’re my friend, but I’ve known you for all two weeks,” Bernie said. Some part of her recognized that she was saying something she didn’t want to, something that would hurt Annie, but once the words started, it felt impossible to stop. “What happened between you two? I’m not the best at reading puh-people but even I can tell you’re in puh-hain. You’re always helping me. I want to huh-huh-huh—” and she slammed her eyes shut until she saw stars.

“Do you want to know, Bernie? Do you really want to know?” said Annie, her voice thick with emotion. Bernie opened her eyes to see Annie crying. Her beautiful blue eyes were rimmed with red already, wet and hot, hot enough to feel it on her own face.

“Yes. I want to know.”

“I didn’t get my birthday kiss,” whispered, closing the space between their faces, “So I _took_ one from her. She got mad. She doesn’t love me, like I love her. I thought… we had something. We don’t. Bernie, she doesn’t love me. She doesn’t _love_ me.”

Bernie said the only thing she could think that couldn’t make it worse. “I’m sorry.” Probably couldn’t make it worse.

Annie’s expression finally cracked, and she buried her face in Bernie’s shoulder, collapsing on her entirely. She sobbed _she doesn’t love me Bernie, she doesn’t love me_ for what felt like days. Annie’s arms crushed her in a hug, and an animal part of Bernie—the rabbit part of her, maybe—wanted to throw Annie off and hide from her, somewhere, anywhere away from being _held._ But moments passed, and Annie was scorching hot and wet and loud and all Bernie wanted to do was comfort her.

She did what she learned from when Annie comforted her. One hand she placed high on her back, the other on the small, both slowly rubbing. Bernie made small, soft sounds, quiet _it’s okay_ s and _I’m here_ s. Bernie felt like she might cry as well, but fought tooth and nail with her emotions to hold herself together. Hold herself together for Annette.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Annie’s sobs turned into gasps, gasps turned into whimpers, and whimpers gave way to the heavy breaths of exhaustion.

“Suh-suh-sounded like you really nuh-needed that,” Bernie said, trying to keep the giggle out of her voice.

“I guess I did,” Annie mumbled into her shoulder, “thank you.”

“You’re supposed to say ‘I’m sorry.’”

Annie stopped abruptly “What?”

“Luh-last week. You said ‘sounded like you really nuh-needed that’ and I said ‘I guess I did, I’m sorry.’”

Annie’s own giggles bubbled up. “You’re so adorable, you know that?”

Bernie was already uncomfortably warm, but her body surprised her when her face lit up with a fire under her cheeks. And for the second time that night, she acknowledged another thought that had been bothering her. “Do you fuh-fuh-fuh—” and eyes shut, “fuh-fancy me?”

“I thought I made it _very_ clear that I love Mercedes,” said Annie, her voice sounding much more mystified and less confident that the words would imply.

“You kuh-keep kissing my cheek. You held my hand all the way home. You said we were on a date—”

“Friend date,” Annie quietly corrected.

“—friend date. Annie, you _just_ said you wanted to kiss me.”

Annie held her breath for a moment, eyes on Bernie’s forehead, looking past her entirely. “Did I?”

“You did. That I’m your best friend, and you want to kiss me.”

“Huh, I guess I did.”

Annie let her breath out, and Bernie could smell the blood on her breath, bitter and hot and _oh, I want to kiss her, do I fancy her like she fancies Mercedes, goddess what does her sweat_ taste _like when it drips off her nose and runs over her lips—_

_Oh, it tastes like this, like salt and blood and sour breath,_ Bernie thought rather detached, realizing that Annette was kissing her, _and maybe this is okay, this is just friendly kisses, because Annie fancies Mercedes, and that hurts, but her lips are really dry but her tongue is really not, and this feels rather nice—_

“Thank you for the birthday kiss, Bernadetta.”

Words failing her, Bernie nodded.

“Um, was that okay? I kind of just,” Annie shrugged, “went for it.”

Bernie nodded again.

“Did you… like it?” Annie asked hopefully.

Bernie nodded once more. She liked it very much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> completely platonic friend kiss while consoling your bestie over a broken heart? normal. not gay. probably.
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com/moonsmoocher), where I am gay.


	11. Visits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings  
> \- discussion of murder

The next morning, Bernie could hardly keep a smile off her face. She had shared a handful of kisses with Annie after the first, small kisses on their lips and cheeks, before Annie retired to her own room. Her lips tingled with the memory. Bernie hadn’t gotten an answer to her question, if Annie fancied her, but she could hardly care. It just felt nice to touch another person, another girl, and not flinch or start, not have a spike of fear driven so far down her spine she lost control of her body. She wondered when the next time she could see Annie would be, for them to spend time together, if there would be more kisses. Bernie hoped there would be.

Dorothea had not returned, and she was not expected to for at least a week. Petra’s face was troubled as she talked with Edelgard and Mercedes, voices low. Hubert stood by Edelgard, scanning the room. His eyes caught Bernie’s, and her blood ran cold at his expression, a warm smile that did not touch his eyes. She felt trapped under his gaze, moreso as he swept his way through the Black Eagles’ classroom, his eyes pinning Bernie in her seat.

“Good morning, Bernadetta.”

“Hubert,” was all Bernie could manage without letting her fear run wild.

He continued past Bernie’s seat, his back leaning on the wall. “You look pleasant this morning. Did you have a nice evening?”

“Wuh-wuh-what?”

“Yesterday, with Annette. You left the monastery in the morning, returned just after midday with clothes and toys, including one sack for Hilda that still sits in your room, and spent the majority of your evening with her there,” Hubert offered calmly.

Bernie’s eyes tightened, her back aching with tension. “Why do you nuh-know all that?”

“I know many things, Bernadetta, and that includes the comings and goings of Lady Edelgard’s subjects,” he said mildly, “Also, I read your post, which is why I am here.”

“My post?” she mumbled, feeling more lost with every word Hubert uttered.

“You are rather fond of your room, yes? Care to have me for _tea_ after classes today? I wish to discuss something… sensitive with you, regarding a letter you received yesterday.”

Bernie felt like she would agree to anything if it would mean Hubert would stop talking to her and _leave._ So she nodded.

“Lovely chatting with you. See you this evening. And, _Bernie bun,_ your secrets are safe with me,” Hubert said with a slight bow and a menacing chuckle, and returned to Edelgard’s side, whispering something over her shoulder.

* * *

When the midday bell rang and classes adjourned for meals, Bernie found herself walking alongside Petra to the mess hall. Her face seemed less troubled than it had this morning, but her posture was more stiff than Bernie had ever seen. Petra was keeping close to her, and at several points turned to Bernie, took a deep breath, and thought better of whatever it was she wanted to say. For her part, Bernie was trying very hard to stop thinking about the kisses with Annie and putting Petra in her place. She succeeded, mostly.

“Um. Is there suh-something on your mind?”

“Yes! There is a worry on my mind and a thunder in my heart. Bernie bun, you are a noble of Fódlan?”

“Yeah. You know that. Is there some noble custom that’s giving you trouble? You wuh-would be better asking Ferdinand or Edelgard. Maybe Hyuh-hyuh-hubert. I don’t really know much about being a noble.”

“Yes! You are not knowing much of nobles, that is what I am needing. I have been asking Edelgard and Ferdinand both. They are not being much help.”

Bernie waited patiently as Petra worked up the courage to continue. They got their food and Bernie accepted her fate. She sat down to eat with Petra.

“Bernie bun… how are you bonding in Fódlan?” Bernie nearly spit out her water. Petra continued, speeding up as she went, “In Brigid, we do not court. There are promises and bondings and there are no rules. Nobles in Fódlan are having many rules for their bondings. Promises only come after courting. But I am only seeing courtings from nobles—”

“Slow duh-down,” Bernie said, cutting her off. “Why do you want to know about cuh-cuh-courting?”

Petra smiled lightly and looked at her food. “There is a thunder in my heart.”

“I’m, um, not exactly the right person to ask.” _I wish it was me that gave you a thunder in your heart,_ Bernie thought, trying to stay calm, keep her emotions level. She fancied Petra, yes, but she was also Petra’s friend, and her friend was asking her for help. “My fuh-father never taught me courting.”

“Yes, yes! I am not needing advice on courting. I am needing advice on bonding.”

“Try Dorothea, then. She seems popular with boys, and she’s not a noble either. Might have to wait until she’s feeling better, though.”

“I… cannot be asking Dorothea,” said Petra, eyes snapping to Bernie’s. The smile from earlier was gone, replaced with the smile of fear, the one she knew from the day she met Petra. She was terrified she had said something in error, that someone would misunderstand, and hoping desperately that her words were not misconstrued.

Bernie’s eyes went wide, understanding dawning on her.

“Um. I see. You want to… with Dorothea…” Bernie trailed off, her stomach roiling in jealousy, immediate and electric, tears storming behind her eyes.

Petra nodded, hope returning to her face.

“I can’t do this for you, I’m suh-suh-suh—” and she shut her eyes tight for the familiar stars, the ones that stopped her stupid voice from stuttering, but she couldn’t start again, and the storm behind her eyes was starting to breaking.

“Bernie bun?”

She drew a deep breath, forcing her body to make words, any words, _any_ words at all, but they played double and triple in her mind and she couldn’t catch a single one in her mouth. _Stupid Bernie._ That was the only thing that felt clear.

Bernie got up and ran to her room.

* * *

Bernie found herself unable to enter her room, because Mercedes was leaning on her door, arms crossed, expression carefully neutral.

“Hello, dear,” she said. While Mercie’s voice was her normal soothing tone, the way she was standing lent the words an icy air.

“Muh-muh-mercedes, I’m not ruh-really in a good place to tuh-tuh-talk,” Bernie said, avoiding her eyes.

“I can imagine. Would you prefer to talk inside your room?” Mercedes asked, and Bernie knew it was not a question. She nodded and they went inside.

As soon as Bernie closed the door, she felt Mercedes wrap her arms around her shoulders, placing her chin on the top of her head, and the storm broke finally, just a little, quiet cries. Mercedes made soft sounds and rocked her gently.

“And here I was, all ready to give you a talk,” Mercie said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Suh-suh-sorry. I’m kind of a muh-mess right now,” Bernie mumbed.

“Would you feel better if you talked about what’s got you upset?”

“Muh-maybe. I don’t ruh-really know you that well, only what Annie’s told me,” Bernie said, aware that Mercedes was more of Annie’s friend than hers.

“That might make it easier, dear, to have someone not so close.”

Bernie ducked out of the hug and rushed to her bed, but stifled the urge to cover herself and instead sat with her back against the wall, knees to her chin. “Suh-someone I care about huh-hurt me, and she didn’t mean to. She doesn’t even nuh-know why,” Bernie said, voice muffled by her knees.

Mercedes sat down at the table, crossing her legs, then uncrossing them. “Would it be okay if I sat next to you?”

“I guh-guess.”

Mercedes nodded, getting moving to the bed, her own back on the wall a respectful distance away. Bernie moved closer, leaning her head on Mercie’s shoulder, tears breaking free.

Mercedes leaned back on Bernie’s head, and said “Is this a matter of the heart?”

“Mm.”

“I suspect you already know something of why I am here. Are our concerns in regards to the same girl?”

This gave Bernie pause. Why would Mercie think this matter of the heart was about Annie? She felt very close to her friend, closer than anyone in her life up to this point, but… Perhaps the kisses last night were more than friendly for Annie? No, they couldn’t be, she was adamant it was a friend date, and birthday kisses. Bernie had no experience to compare it to anyway. Annie did not make her heart thunder, as Petra put it. After this consideration, Bernie replied, “Nuh-no.”

Mercedes breathed a sigh of relief. “That makes things a little less complicated, even if it was unexpected.”

“Petra fancies Duh-duh-dorothea,” Bernie said, rushing the words out to get them over with, “and wuh-wants my help figuring out duh-dating, but I don’t know a thing about dating or cuh-courting, or anything at all, I’m just a _stupid Bernie_ and all I do is fuh-fuck things up, and I’m suh-scared I’m going to lose Petra because I cuh-cuh-can’t get over my stupid suh-self.”

Mercedes is silent for a long time, eventually reaching her arm behind Bernie to rub her shoulders.

“Petra spent the night at Dorothea’s side, in the infirmary. She was terrified she would lose Dorothea, despite her… attitude. Dorothea’s got quite the fire inside of her. When I went to check on her in the morning, I found them both asleep on Dorothea’s bed. I’m afraid her heart already belongs to Dorothea. I’m sorry, Bernadetta. I know how difficult this can be, not having the love you have for another woman reflected, especially once you know that such an option is on the table.”

Bernie felt bitter and wished Mercedes would just leave her alone, so she tried to think of the most hurtful thing she could say, “You _would_ know of denying love, wouldn’t you.”

Mercedes drew in a sharp breath and said thinly, “That was uncalled for.”

“Annie loves you,” Bernie said, unsure of where the anger in her voice was truly coming from.

“And I love Annette as well, but our love is not the same. She… wants me all to herself. I cannot do that to her. I _will_ not do that to her.”

“What’s it to you anyway? If you luh-loved her, why turn her away?”

“Oh, my dear Bernadetta, if only you could understand how much you’re hurting me right now,” Mercie said, her voice suddenly thick with emotion.

“Tell me, then. Make me understuh-stuh-stand!” Bernie shouted into her knees.

“Okay, dear. If you really want to do this… Consider this. If you had managed to capture Petra’s heart, and she yours, like you wish, and you later found out Petra had also given her heart to Dorothea, how would you feel.”

“I only huh-have one heart to give,” Bernie said immediately.

“Well, I do not. I give my heart freely, which includes taking it back, splitting it up, and using it to help other women like us. If I were to give my heart to Annette, she would not be pleased if I took it back,” Mercedes explained, adding in a quieter voice, “It would… damage her. I’m afraid I already have.”

“Um, I’m not ruh-really sure about all this talk of the heart. Sorry. It’s all so nuh-new to me,” Bernie said, burying her face deeper in her knees to hide the shame on her cheeks.

“That aside, I believe Annie has already given her heart to someone without realizing it,” Mercedes said carefully, “and she would end up hurting herself more than I ever could when she realizes that.”

“Um, who would thuh-that be?” Bernie asked.

“That between Annette the lucky girl who holds her heart,” Mercedes said, sounding annoyingly mysterious, like she was privy to some wisdom she withheld. Bernie felt like something important was eluding her, but could not even understand what the thing might look like, and Mercie had the answers she wanted.

“Last night she kuh-kissed me,” Bernie said, “and only talked about you.”

Mercie giggled and said, “She did? My, that’s unexpected. It appears she’s figured out more about her own troubles than I had thought.”

“I wish you would stop being so mysterious, Mercie.”

“I am doing no such thing. You already have all the information you need to figure this one out. I’m not going to do it for you. Think of it as an exercise for understanding why your love for Petra hurts and why you’re so upset with me for hurting Annie.”

“I’m not upset,” Bernie said, voice betraying her feelings.

“Of course not, dear.”

* * *

She couldn’t sit still, knowing that Hubert was coming to her room at some point. She didn’t even know _when_ and that made it worse, so much worse. She had entirely skipped food because the idea of him showing up to her room and letting himself in and… being unobserved. She had heard whispers of what he was capable of, and the magic she had seen him performing during drills this week were unlike anything she had seen. Magic of the kind Dorothea and Annette used left the air charged with energy and left her skin feeling itchy. Magic of the kind Mercedes and Linhardt used left her feeling warm or cool in her chest, though she hadn’t had much opportunity to deal with it since she was a little girl, when her father first brought the chair and the cruel metal tools.

Magic of the kind Hubert used left her skin feeling oily, her stomach roiling in protest, and slime covering her innermost thoughts for nearly a day after being close enough to it. Magic of the kind Hubert used, she had never seen or even heard of elsewhere.

So, no, at the very least she did not want something like that lingering in the one place she felt safe, her room at Garreg Mach, her _home._ She did not trust him, she had no reason to trust him other than Edelgard trusted him, and she barely knew Edelgard. She and Bernie had exchanged a handful of words outside of training, almost all pleasantries, and most coming from the princess herself. If Hubert was terrifying for obvious reasons, Edelgard was at least as equally as terrifying for reasons Bernie could not place.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

“Bernadetta, may I come in?” asked Hubert politely through the door.

She had just been rearranging her stack of notes from the afternoon on proper supply distribution for the seventh time, her suddenly trembling hands spilling the parchment all over the floor. “Um, cuh-cuh-come in. The duh-door is unluh-locked,” Bernie said, scrambling on her knees to pick up the papers.

“Pardon the intrusion,” Hubert said mildly as he shut the door behind him.

“Tuh-take a seat,” Bernie said quietly. She was hesitant to look at him for fear of what she might see, her mind going wild at the range of possible expressions that could be on his face, and kept shuffling her notes. Was he mad? Had he… come to silence her? That seemed unlikely, but her terrified mind latched on it, constructing ever more elaborate situations at what Hubert was doing behind her. Was it a dagger, coated in some clear oil that spelled certain death? Some new magic, a whispered word to steal her breath away forever? Perhaps it was something entirely more sinister, some grand machination that could destroy her utterly.

“I’ve brought a gift of tea,” he said darkly, a wide grin apparent in his words, luxuriating in insinuation. So poison it was. The end approached for Bernie, she knew. All that was left was to face her fate with her chin up and her eyes forward, because there was no escaping this. She stood on trembling legs, papers falling from her hands once more, but on the desk this time. That would have to do.

“Luh-let me stuh-start the water,” she mumbled, scared that if she opened her mouth too wide, Hubert would hear her teeth chatter together. She put the kettle on the small fireplace.

“Wonderful. Seems you’ve had a busy day. How are Petra and Mercedes?”

“Um, fuh-fine.” What else was Bernie supposed to say to that? Hubert probably knew anyways, and was trying to make her feel safe. The problem was, it was working. She knew that this was a tactic to get her guard down and yet… she felt it doing so. She was easing into the presence in her room, Hubert feeling normal in her space.

He paused for a beat, “I am sure they are. Would you care to take a seat? I know I am a guest, but I wish to discuss something sensitive. It… will not be a pleasant topic. I’ll take care of the tea.”

Bernie, for the first time, considered the possibility that Hubert was being perfectly honest. What if he was genuinely concerned for Bernadetta? He had no reason to, other than his stated loyalty to Edelgard and her subjects, of which she indeed counted as. That was, at the very least, more likely than him coming to kill her for any reason at all. With this in mind, she tried to quell her fear, as she nodded, and sat down. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Hubert, instead just letting eyes remain firmly attached to her lap, noting with some distaste that there was a tear forming in her uniform trousers at the knee.

She heard Hubert get up, walking around the room. She felt the presence of magic, somewhat like the one from training, but this one was gentler. It covered her senses like a blanket. The sound of the fire became distant. Her skin was just barely numb, like she had just woken up. Her eyes felt dry. She couldn’t smell or taste anything, which was only noticeable by the absence of it. There was a panic at this, but it felt detached in her mind, like it outside a window. She could see it, she knew what it was, but it couldn’t touch her.

“That’s much better. I’ve put up a ward against inquisitive minds. Also a personal touch of calm, courtesy of Lady Edelgard. Do not forget to thank her for her request to soften this news for you,” Hubert said, kindness hiding just under the surface of his voice. “Were it up to me, I would prefer you fully present, but I see her reasoning. As always, I am at my Lady’s service.”

Bernie could now also see the fear, wild and twitching, in the window of her mind. “Um, sure. What are you here to talk to me about?” the usual double and triple layers of words she struggled with when she was nervous had fallen away, a blessedly single thought at a time.

“I bring a letter from your father, Count Varley. None know the contents of this, save myself and Lady Edelgard. We thought it best to bring it to you in confidence.” Hubert produced a letter, somehow still sealed with the Varley stamp, and slid it across the table to Bernie. “Read it while I fix our tea.”

Bernie picked up the letter.

> _Bernadetta,_
> 
> _I have arranged for a husband for you. You are to come back to Varley at once. The ceremony is on the next moon. Failure to do so will result in your being stricken from the Varley register and all your possessions seized. I will also mobilize the guard to come collect you from Garreg Mach, or wherever you are. I am not growing any younger, and you are not fit to take the Varley lands. Your mother wishes you home._
> 
> _Do not test me._
> 
> _Count Varley_

Hubert put down a cup of tea in front of her, Bernie snapping to attention. The animal fear behind the window keened in alarm, but she saw the kind expression on his face. With some reluctance, because she knew she had been rather unreasonable, she found herself fond of him.

“As you have read, your father wishes to spirit you away from here and stick you in some minor noble’s bedroom. Though, I don’t know what his talk of heirs means, the man is in fine health.”

“Mama can’t have kids,” Bernie stated. She understood that she would have been shocked at the coldness of her statement, but like all the other things in her mind, that was also behind the window.

“Ah, that would do it,” Hubert mused darkly, before motioning to Bernie with his cup and continuing, “Be sure to drink up, Bernadetta. This ward will dull your senses but not enough to get over the taste of that awful brew.”

Bernadetta looked upon her blood tea. Something felt off about this situation but in her present state, she couldn’t understand why anything would feel strange. She downed the cup of blood in one breath, a shudder still escaping her.

“So what am I to do?”

“If you wished, I could have your father… taken care of. Lady Edelgard would undoubtedly be upset at the loss of a vassal but she would get over it once you graduated the academy here and took over your family’s lands. You’d be a better countess. It would be hard to be a _worse_ one.”

“My father had kept Varley lands profitable since he took over.”

“Profit isn’t everything, Bernadetta, and his removal would be but a stumbling block. Bureaucracy has an _unimaginable_ momentum when change would mean the people in power might be threatened.”

“I don’t want him killed.”

Hubert sighed. “I had feared as much, but Lady Edelgard said that she would follow your lead on this matter, so with that decided, there’s not much I can do.”

“I don’t want to go back, either.”

Hubert chuckled. “Of course you wouldn’t want to go back to that hell. Even if you had, Lady Edelgard would not allow it. And failing _that,_ I would protect you of my own accord. We are, after all, crows of the same murder.”

“Excuse me?”

“Pardon the macabre expression. I am not, as one might say… _out,_ ” Hubert said carefully, nodding at the dregs of blood tea in his cup, “but we are alike. Much like that Annette girl.”

_Oh._ Hubert was like her. Hubert was also a girl.

“Oh. I didn’t know, sorry, Hyuh-hyuh—” and the panic was so great that it started banging cracks on the windows in her mind. “Um, what do you whuh-want me to call you?”

“For now, I would not have you address me differently. I will make a _grand_ entrance in my own time. I trust you will take this information about me in confidence. Aside from Lady Edelgard, of course, and that Manuela woman that I get this damnable herb from, you are… the only other soul who knows.”

Bernie just nodded, the cracks in the window starting to give.

“I just… see how happy you and Annette are, sharing this part of yourself with one another. I am on the other side of that but… Well, it’s a little selfish of me, but I wish to connect as well.”

“Um, if you want to juh-join me and Annie for blood tea, I’m sure she won’t mind.”

“Is that what you call this? Hah, I can see why. Perhaps I will take you up on that this weekend. Lady Edelgard will be away from the monastery on… _business,_ and I will be stuck here sitting on my hands,” Hubert tapped the empty cup of tea with her fingers, “Look at the time, I must be going. I must see a woman about a flying horse.”

“Um, thank you. For luh-letting me know about my father.”

“Thank Lady Edelgard. I simply would have removed the man. And, Bernadetta, when I leave, the wards will come down. Do try _not_ to scream, it would be terribly embarrassing for both of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow bernie you're having a Busy Day, huh
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com/moonsmoocher), where I am gay.


	12. I Won't Leave You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for this chapter  
> \- childhood trauma  
> \- referenced torture  
> \- light misgendering

_Bernadetta looks at the cruel chair she spent so much of her childhood in, so much of it avoiding. Heavy wood, stained dark from years of sweat and more than a little blood. Harsh iron rivets that dug into her wrists and elbows and knees and ankles are rusted with age. She closes her eyes with the memory of pain, sharp and hot and fresh._

_When she opens her eyes, she’s in the chair again, and Petra is leaning over her. She is hunting. “Bernadetta, your heart is being placed wrong,” Petra says calmly. She takes an arrow and stabs her in the chest. Bernadetta can’t scream, because her tongue is skewered on her heart. Cursed black takes her._

Her heart hammered in her chest fast enough to bring her back. Her skin was tight and dry and hot. She could feel each individual heartbeat as blood surged through her body. Everything felt too small, too fast, too much. Blessed black took her.

_Bernadetta looks at the cruel chair she spent so much of her childhood in, so much of it avoiding. Heavy wood, stained on the seat from the first time she sat in it. The healers took a piece of her then, to make her closer to the perfect wife her father wants. She smells the singed flesh when it was cauterized, the blood and iron and wood._

_Mercedes is in the chair, and Bernadetta is undoing straps that keep her in place. “Women can hurt other women, Bernie,” she says, calm blue eyes wide and pleading. Bernadetta stops freeing the knots. She opens her mouth, blood tea pouring from it. Bernadetta can’t scream, because her tongue falls out of Mercedes. Cursed black takes her._

She swam in sweat, drowning, but she couldn't bring her head up out of the pillow to breath. Her mouth was full of wet metal and bile. She died in her own bloody sick. Blessed black took her.

_Bernadetta looks at the cruel chair she spent so much of her childhood in, so much of it avoiding. Heavy wood, stained on the back with tears. A man stands there, hands waiting for her head patiently. It is her father, with the rope to tie around her neck. It is her husband, to push her away into nothingness. It is herself as a young boy, asking for salvation._

_She sits in the chair. Her father ties the rope around her neck. She can’t breathe, and the edges of her vision darkens. Her husband leans on her shoulders and her neck bulges with pressure. Her lungs sing with the need for air. A young boy climbs on her lap, putting his arms around her neck, and with a gentle touch, he pulls her head off. She screams. Cursed black takes her._

* * *

The voice was low and breathy, familiar. Soft and bright. “Bernadetta?”

A response, “Be careful,” and this voice was rich and sinister.

“This is your fault, idiot. You don’t have any right to tell me to be _careful,_ ” said the bright voice.

“Bernadetta is in a fragile state. She needs care. But you are right.”

“Why didn’t you get Manuela? Take her to the infirmary? Goddess, even Mercedes?”

“That would expose our pact,” the sinister voice said with a wry chuckle.

“Your _what?_ ” the bright voice said.

“My apologies, it is a habit. I’ve lived so long amid darkness that I forget what it has done to me,” the sinister voice softened with worry, “I discussed sensitive information that my Lady asked to remain controlled until Bernadetta herself decides to disclose it.”

“Whatever, creep. You say she just needs someone to make sure she doesn’t choke on her sick anymore? I can do that, so leave us.”

“You will also need to make sure she has plenty of water. I can have your meals delivered if you like.”

“Fine. Just… leave. And don’t fucking hurt my best friend again, or I will tell _your Lady_ about how you used some _serious_ thought magic on someone without her consent, _after_ telling her that you did it under her orders.”

“You have my thanks.”

“I don’t want your thanks, you evil little man.”

The sinister voice paused, before it said stiffly, “Well, if something unexpected comes up, I will be around.”

* * *

When Bernie woke up, her first thought was that she regretted it. It felt like her brain was about twice the size it should have been. She could feel it pulsing against her eyes with each labored beat of her heart. Her second thought was that she was not alone in her bed. Someone was flush with her back, and had an arm resting over her waist. Her third thought was that she was very hungry.

She tried to move but her limbs did so in their own time, only responding to instructions as a gentle suggestion. The body next to her stirred.

“Bernadetta, are you awake?” asked Annie.

Bernie tried to respond but her mouth was stuck. All she could do was produce a gurgle. She felt pathetic, like a guest in her own body.

“Hold on, let me get you some water,” she said, and left Bernie alone. Tried to open her eyes, and eventually was able to do so. She immediately recognized that she was not in her own bed. The scent was wrong, and this wasn’t her wall because there was no bank of pillows against it. Annie’s bed, probably.

Annie’s helped her roll on her back. Bernie’s eyes went wide as Annie rubbed her forehead. She was so close to her, pretty blue eyes sat in bruised sockets. Her skin looked slick with worry. “I’m gonna sit you up, okay?” Bernie somehow managed to make herself nod.

Bernie did her best to help Annie move her to a somewhat sitting position. She wanted to feel embarrassed at being so incompetent, so much of a _stupid Bernie_ that she couldn’t move her own damn legs and arms, but she couldn’t work up the emotion. Bernie was drained of emotion except for the barest traces.

Once Annie helped her drink some water, she found speaking much easier, but all she could get out was a simple, “Hi.”

“I was so scared. What possessed you to let Hubert in your room?” Bernie prepared to answer before Annie started again, “No, actually, don’t answer that. I know you’ll talk about it when you’re ready. Here, have some more water.”

“I’m hungry,” she croaked after taking another sip.

“I imagine so. You haven’t eaten anything in over a day. We’ll get to that soon, but you need more water first. If you eat right now, it’ll just come up again.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence while Bernie tried working her limbs more. It took a while, but she had most of her arms under her control and felt like she would be ready to try standing up soon when she asked “Um, Annie, why am I in my nightclothes?”

“I wasn’t going to let you sleep in my bed like that.”

“Luh-like what?” _Stupid Bernie, can’t even be sick to yourself without causing your friend trouble. Can’t you see how she’s run herself ragged, you stupid girl? A perfect wife should be the one taking care of her sick husband._

“Covered in… gross stuff.”

“Oh, I’m suh-sorry.”

“Don’t be, Bernie. That idiot Hubert is the one who should be sorry.”

“Don’t buh-be mad at her. She was only trying to help. I didn’t really know magic could do something like that. It’s never been so… negative. Does that happen often?”

Annie arched her eyebrows and muttered to herself, “Goddess, I can’t believe I owe Mercedes a favor.”

“What dih-did you say?”

“You just said—you know what? Nevermind. It’s not my business. Yes, Hubert knew what he was doing, and did it anyway. I have half a mind to tell Manuela and Hanneman about this, but I wanted to get your side of the story first. For all his idiocy, he seemed genuinely worried about you. He came to me because I know some magic theory and could catch anything that he missed.”

“Um, well I’m glad it wuh-was you.”

Annie gave her a lovely, tired smile. “I’d do basically anything for you, Bernadetta.”

* * *

“So, your father, Count Varley, has told you to come home so you can marry some worthless noble brat?” Annie said. Her cheek was stuffed with cold chicken as she talked around the food.

“Mm, yeff, an’ Ede’garf—”

“Chew your food before talking, silly,” Annie chided.

Bernie finished another mouthful. “Suh-sorry. Edelgard and Hubert know but they’re scary and I don’t really know what to duh-do.”

“Bernie, I’ll be honest, I don’t know what to do either. I don’t know how much your father can legally force your hands on this. I’m not exactly an expert in Adrestian nobility.”

“Oh, no, Hubert said she’d keep me suh-safe because I’m one of Edelgard’s subjects.”

Annie puffed out a sigh. “This is getting silly. We don’t need to talk around this.”

“Whuh-what?” Bernie said.

Annie considered her words carefully. “You keep saying _she_ when referring to Hubert.”

Bernie felt panic settle into her bones, familiar and comforting in the absence of all but the dregs of emotions. “ _Oh!_ Um, suh-sorry, I’m nuh-not supposed to—”

“Is Hubert like us?”

“I told her I wouldn’t say anything…”

“Oh, Bernie, I won’t tell anyone unless she’s ready. But if you’re going to keep that a secret, you have to be careful of your words. I am paying a lot of attention to you, to see if there are any latent effects of the magic Hubert did, but people will notice.”

“We had tea when she tuh-hold me about the letter. Blood tea. Is that a problem with the magic?”

“Probably not. There are certainly enchanted brews out there but the mix of herbs that are in blood tea are just normal ones. Women like us have been doing this for a very long time, and there’s not much magic to be done about it, though starting around next week you’ll begin feeling it. That’s a kind of magic, but not the magic we do with spells.” Annie gave her a knowing wink, but Bernie wasn’t sure what was supposed to be implied.

“Stuh-still doesn’t change that my father is going to send people after me.”

“Well, I’ll stick by your side no matter what happens,” Annie said, chipper and proud.

“What if I have to go back? What if I have to get muh-muh-married?”

“You said Hubert wouldn’t let you go.”

“Hubert is just _one_ person.”

“No, you have people on your side. Hubert, yes, and you said Edelgard would also try to keep you here. And you have me! That’s four people already. We could ask Petra for help too.”

Bernie cast her eyes at the chicken bones on her plate. “I don’t want to tuh-talk about Petra.”

Annie puffed a sigh, a small one that she couldn’t keep the annoyance out of. “Bernie, she’s your friend. A little broken heart shouldn’t ruin that. Even if I am upset with Mercedes, she’s still my friend too. _Oh,_ she’d definitely help. See? Now we have six.”

“Annie…” Bernie said, miserable at the prospect of dragging others into this trouble. She already had two people pledge to this cause, and she couldn’t ask more.

“ _What?_ You can’t just rely on other people to take care of you. Hubert says she’s going to protect you, and I know I will, but won’t mean anything if you don’t want to protect yourself.”

“I don’t really want to talk about this.”

“Fine. We don’t have to talk about it tonight, but I won’t let you just fall over and take it. That’s kind of how this happened in the first place, though it’s not your fault.”

“You don’t know how my father is,” Bernie said, voice harder than she expected.

“Then _tell_ me, Bernie,” Annie pleaded, “I meant it when I said you're my best friend. I don’t want you to hide anything from me, because I don’t want to hide anything from you.”

“I said I don’t want to _talk_ about it!” Bernie tried her best to shout, but it came out as a loud wheeze at best. How _dare_ Annie act like she knew about what Bernie had gone through? No one knew, no one came close to knowing. How could they? The chair was for Bernadetta to sit in. There was no room on it for others, most certainly not Annie.

Annie reached over and put one of her hands on Bernie’s. “Sorry. I’m just… I’m scared. I don’t want to lose you.”

“I’m not worth fighting for, okay? Juh-hust luh-luh-leave me alone,” Bernie said. She knew she was being petulant but right now all she wanted to do was go to her room and burrow in her covers and sleep for a week.

“No, Bernie. I will _not_ leave you alone. I’ve taken care of you, in secret, for two days and I’m so damn tired I can barely stay awake and if you leave… If you leave, Bernie, I don’t know what to do. So don’t go tonight. Please. _Please_ just come to bed with me and stay and we don’t have to talk about anything. I won’t bring it up. Just don’t leave me.”

And here it was, Bernie realized her fate was sealed as soon as Annie started to talk. She had used a cute but devastating pout to get her way twice before, but now she saw the real one. Before, the pouts had been strong questions, ones that were hard to deny. This one, however, this genuine expression of misery and fear and sadness… Bernie would do _anything_ to stop her from feeling like this, anything at all, and she would do it gladly, because her heart was thundering. She recognized the expression on her face from when she had been around Petra, the one she saw so closely when she had been consoling Annie over Mercedes.

“I won’t leave you.”

Bernadetta was in love with Annette.

* * *

Even with this realization, little changed with how Bernie felt. If anything, she felt more comfortable around Annie than ever. As proof of this, she supposed, Bernie was in Annie’s bed, her back against the wall, her hand lightly holding Annie’s, and she couldn’t keep a smile off her face. Where the kisses from before had been exciting, Bernie was calm and comfortable now, and full of affection for her friend.

Annie rolled over to face her, and she whispered, “Bernie, are you asleep?”

“Nuh-nuh-not yet.”

“Thank you for staying.”

Bernie squeezed her hand, and said “Thank you for taking cuh-care of me.” She stretched her neck the rest of the distance to Annie’s face and placed a kiss—not just a friendly kiss, this time—on her cheek.

“Bernie!” giggled Annie, a smile bright in her voice. She rolled even closer and pulled Bernie into a hug.

Bernie giggled too. It was always easy to laugh with her. “What, can I not duh-do that too?”

“No, that was very nice. I just wasn’t expecting it. You’re more than welcome to do it again.”

“Maybe I should do it in front of my father when you save me from my marriage.”

“I look forward to it, Bernadetta,” Annie said, and kissed her cheek—a comfortable, friendly kiss.

She wondered if her preoccupation with how Annie felt towards her stemmed from how she felt about Annie. Would Bernie be okay with just staying like this? Matters of the heart, as Mercedes had put it, were not something she had much experience with, but it seemed that Bernie was already wrapped in one of her own.

Bernadetta wished to stay like this for a long time, but knowing that the morning would bring with it a terrifying new chapter in her life, she was glad to have Annette by her side to face it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, the end of the first act of _Tea, as Blood_ is over! Bernie bun has been through a lot in a couple of weeks. Things will slow down a bit before we start the second act proper. I'd love if you would leave me a comment about what you think of the story so far!
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful wife, CJ, for encouraging me to publish this silly idea. _Tea, as Blood_ would not be here without them.
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com/moonsmoocher), where I am gay.


	13. Petra's Request, Part One

For the rest of the week, Petra avoided Bernie, and it hurt to see, but she understood. Bernie felt like if Petra wasn’t avoiding her, she would be avoiding Petra instead. She was skilled enough now that Petra’s instruction on archery was little more than a bonding exercise as the extent of her knowledge failed. She wasn’t trained as a military archer or officer, just as a hunter, and aside from good form, the skills didn’t overlap that much. Instead, she found herself drilling under one of the Knights, a handsome, hard-faced, dour woman by the name of Shamir, while Petra had moved on to training with blades.

Alone with Shamir, Bernie found it was easier to focus. Shamir said that Bernie had a lot of promise as a sharpshooter, that she had good intuition for distances and reading the wind. Bernie didn’t know if that was exactly right, but it did help her feel a little more confident. The playful banter that had been her and Petra’s normal method was replaced by silence, harsh instructions, and even harsher praise.

Shamir was frightening in a lot of respects, but she didn’t treat Bernadetta like she was made of glass, or coddle her with praise. Bernie respected that immensely, and found herself rather fond of training under her, even if it was just for a few days already.

On the last day, Bernie found she was being watched by Petra. It wasn’t much comfort, but thankfully Petra sat in Bernie’s blind spot, and she was able to focus. She was working accuracy at a distance, firing further back than she ever had. When Bernie hit the archery butt in the center, she heard Petra gasp and giggle behind her. She flushed at the praise.

Shamir sighed. “Alright, Bernadetta. You’ve done fine work. We’re done for today. Remember to let your hands rest up this weekend. No drills until next class.”

“Um, are you sure, Sha-shamir?” Bernie asked.

“Always am. Besides, it seems you’ve got a fan,” Shamir said with a rare smile. Bernie shot Petra an annoyed look over her shoulder, but it didn’t seem to dampen her excitement. She fought to contain her shame at avoiding Petra, but Bernie was also glad to see again. With some distance, Bernie realized that Annie had been right. She couldn’t let that get between the two of them.

After putting her training gear back, Bernie walked over to where Petra was waiting. “You are doing well, Bernie bun,” she said, with a warm smile.

“Only because I have two good teachers. Shamir is very strict but she’d have nothing to work with if you hadn’t given me the fuh-foundation for good form. Thank you, Petra,” Bernie said.

“It is nothing. I am wondering if you would like to have a meal together,” Petra asked.

“Aren’t you mad at me for running off last time?”

“What? I am never being mad at you! I am having good eyes and seeing you sneak away with that Blue Lions girl, hopping like a happy Bernie bun. I was thinking you are maybe like me. It is common in Brigid for girls to be bonding, but in Fódlan I am being looked at strangely. I am sorry if I am making you feel bad.”

“Petra… I guess you’re not wrong about that. I, um, do fuh-fuh-fancy girls,” Bernie said sheepishly. She wanted to say _I fancy you, Petra._ “I had my own reasons for running off. I’m suh-suh-sorry.”

“It is nothing. I am already having help with my problem,” Petra said. Bernie wondered what exactly that meant. Had she received advice from someone else? Did Petra just go ahead and tell Dorothea how she felt? Both seemed like plausible options for her.

“That’s good. I feel a buh-bit better about the whole thing. My, um, reasons for running off aren’t all solved buh-but I won’t do it again, if you want to talk to me about it. I missed you this week.”

“I am missing you as well. That is why I am asking if you would like to have a meal together.”

“Oh, right, sorry. Um, that’s okay. Do you mind if I bring Annie? That’s the Blue Lions girl you mentioned.”

Petra nudged Bernie’s shoulder and said, “I would like to be meeting the girl that thunders in Bernie bun’s heart.”

“Petra! It’s not like that,” Bernie playfully complained. Petra’s remark had been closer to the truth than she was willing to admit. After realizing her feelings, in the light of day, with distance between herself and Annie, it was hard to admit to herself that she was in love with her best friend out loud. Even if she felt the proof in her own heart, thundering away.

“Sorry, sorry. I am missing— _missed_ having you around.”

* * *

She waited outside the Blue Lions class. Despite no rules preventing students from entering the teaching spaces, Bernie couldn’t bring herself to enter. She really only knew two of the people inside, which she could spy around the corner. Mercedes and Annie were talking with a stern looking girl with blonde hair and impeccable posture. She could give Edelgard a run for her money with being an imposing presence packed into a small frame.

“Hey there, um… Bernie?” came a sweet, slightly menacing voice from behind her. Bernie jumped a little, spinning around.

“Oh! Hi, um, Hilda. Funny muh-muh-meeting you here,” said Bernie. Hilda was very close to her, closer than she really felt comfortable with. Bernie pressed herself against the wall.

“We go to class here, silly,” said Hilda. She swung her hands behind her coyly, scuffing her boot on the ground.

“You’re not in this class,” Bernie said, a little confused. Hilda seemed like a very confusing person. Bernie knew she used this to her advantage to get people to do things for her, and was sure that even if Bernie knew this, it would not help her if Hilda really put on the charms.

Hilda giggled. “You aren’t either, Bernie. Waiting for someone?”

“Um…”

“You know you can just,” Hilda scrunched her nose and pointed in the door, “go _inside_ there.” Bernie flinched away from Hilda’s finger like it was a sword being brandished at her. “I’m just teasing you. Hey, do you have anything of mine? Perhaps a bag full of clothes you so gallantly volunteered to carry for me? Because, you know, my weak little arms.”

“Um, I think Hubert… took it,” Bernie said. She didn’t actually know if Hubert had taken it, but when she came back to her room, it was nowhere to be seen, and Annie didn’t have it in her room. Bernie braced herself for Hilda to be upset at the news. 

Hilda waited for a moment, then said sweetly, “What?”

“It’s not in my room. Hubert puh-probably has it.”

“Hubert,” Hilda said flatly.

“Yes. Hubert.”

“Tall guy, scary, looks like he could kill you with a scowl?”

“Yep,” Bernie confirmed.

“Huh. Well then. Have fun waiting for your girlfriend.”

“Annie’s not my—oh, you’re already gone.”

* * *

Bernie sat next to Annie in the crowded mess hall, across from Petra and… Mercedes. The help Petra had gathered was _Mercedes._ Bernie supposed she should be surprised, but honestly she didn’t. Things seemed to be going too smoothly this week after spending the night with Annie, and Bernie felt this might be some divine punishment for feeling happy for a few days.

Annie couldn’t keep the scowl off her face, but Mercedes chose to very obviously ignore it. Petra kept stealing glances at the three of them between staring at her food.

Mercedes started the conversation, and Bernie was thankful for the break in the tension. “I’m glad Petra invited you, Bernie.”

“She’s my fuh-friend,” Bernie said, and she knew it was a _stupid Bernie_ thing to say but the oppressive atmosphere was crushing her ability to think.

“So, shall we get down to business?” Mercedes asked, surveying the group.

Annie scoffed. “What business? Are you going to—”

“ _Annette._ ” Mercedes interrupted, “This is not the time or place. We’re here to help Petra, isn’t that right?”

Petra nodded. “Yes. I am wanting to help Dorothea. She is having… troubles. She is being tied to a noble who is making things difficult. She is drinking every night with him and is not stopping. Dorothea is needing help, and is not asking for it.”

Bernie remembered how off she was during the week running up to their mock battle. In the mornings, Dorothea was cranky and mean and it kind of scared Bernie because she didn’t know what to make of it, but by midday, she seemed mostly normal. Bernie felt ashamed that she thought this might have been something about winning Dorothea over to Petra. Of course that wouldn’t matter to her. Petra might have some sort of feelings for her, but that’s not the kind of person she was.

Annie’s face immediately lost all of the anger, and Bernie realized a lot of it was for show, much like how her pout was to get Bernie to do things she wanted her to do. She said nothing and looked at Bernie, grabbing her elbow gently.

“Petra doesn’t want to take it to the staff, and I agree. While Dorothea is an equal as a student, she is still a commoner, and that carries with it a risk of unfavorable treatment. Not to mention her history with Manuela, the poor woman would not take it well and Dorothea doesn’t need that.”

“Um, excuse me, but what is Dorothea’s history with Ms. Casagranda?” Bernie asked. She knew that Ms. Casagranda used to be a star in the Mittelfrank Opera Company so she certainly would know a lot of people when she was part of the short lived touring opera that Bernie saw when she was young, but Dorothea had never mentioned it.

“That is not a story for me to tell, but in short, Manuela recruited her to Mittelfrank,” Mercedes offered carefully. Bernie nodded, before she continued, “Petra and I have a plan, but we would like Bernie’s help. Annie, you are welcome to help as well.”

Annie looked down, her face tight and red with shame, “I’m not leaving Bernie, so I’ll help. I’ll admit, I had some wrong ideas about what was going on when I saw you two here. I know I jumped to conclusions, but you two really are trying to help Dorothea out of a hard situation. I’m… I’m sorry, Mercie. I’ve been such a butt to you since…”

“Annie, dear, you know I’ve forgiven you. But thank you for your apology. Still friends?”

Annie’s face split into a wide, contagious smile that Bernie felt creep on her own face. “You’ll have to do more than that to get rid of me.”

“Like I would ever want you gone. Did you end up baking anything this week?”

Annie’s face fell. “I haven’t had time. I had… something to take care of.” She glanced nervously at Bernie so quickly that Bernie thought she might have imagined it.

“Hm. I was hoping to have some sweets for our plan, but I think I can work with this. I need you and Annie to head to the library and find some information. I’m hoping to find the lineage of Dorothea’s suitor. If we can’t embarrass him one way, we’ll do it another.”

Annie blanched. “We’re going to blackmail him?”

“You make it sound so serious,” Mercedes frowned. “We’re simply going to find a skeleton in his family’s closet that will make Dorothea think twice before taking his drink or his bed. Surely that’s not morally reprehensible.”

Bernie had an idea, but she wasn’t sure how much she was going to be able to say in a public space like this. “Mercie, I know suh-someone who might be able to help. I can’t talk about it but… Annie knows.” She shot Annie a warning look.

Annie didn’t catch on right away until Bernie mouthed _Hubert_ at her. “Oh! Yes, I think we could get some outside assistance. In fact, I’m sure of it. Bernie is right, though. We’ve got to keep this secret.”

“Well, that’s settled, then. We’ll meet in the mess hall after dark to discuss what we’ve found and move our plan forward,” Mercedes said, finally digging into her meal in earnest.

“Thank you, Bernie bun. You are being a true friend to me,” Petra said in a quiet voice. Her face was still locked on her food, eyes flicking about nervously, but Bernie could see a wide smile. Bernie felt a blush creep up her neck. Petra’s smiles were always so pretty. She felt like she’d do almost anything to keep Petra smiling like that, even if it wasn’t for the most selfless of reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are going to be slowing down for _Tea, as Blood_ as I don't want to burn myself out, but rest assured, I'm very dedicated to telling this story. I already loved both Bernadetta and Annette a great deal before starting this story, and writing for them has only deepened my affections for their characters.
> 
> You can find me on [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com/moonsmoocher), where I'm gay.


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